


Taking A Break

by ohmygoshwhatascream



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Iruka is Naruto's Dad, Iruka is a bit of a mess, Letters, Loosely Canon Compliant, M/M, Miscommunication, Mizuki Sucks, Past Mizuki/Iruka - Freeform, Set in the pre-shippuden blank period, Slow Burn, This was supposed to be a funny oneshot, Trust Issues, and then I remembered Mizuki exists, big brother Asuma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-25 09:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 47,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygoshwhatascream/pseuds/ohmygoshwhatascream
Summary: With Naruto gone, Iruka finds himself left with nothing but loose ends. Lonely, but not quite willing to admit it, life goes on. He takes more shifts at the mission desk, avoids his friends and tries to convince himself that the shadows in his apartment are not growing larger and larger with each passing day.It doesn't help that Hatake Kakashi, a man who Iruka tries to avoid at all costs, is suddenly lingering in each and every corner of his life.No matter what he tells himself, there's something about Kakashi that makes it impossible to stay away. The remnants of an age-old crush that never quite faded offer the promise of something he'd promised to forget and, even when it burns, Iruka finds himself captivated.His back bears the cruel memory of weakness and he knows that this can't last.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Umino Iruka, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Mizuki/Umino Iruka, Sarutobi Asuma & Umino Iruka, Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto
Comments: 47
Kudos: 143





	1. Letter One

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This exists. I intended this to be a short, comedic oneshot and now I'm here. Because this wasn't intended to be so long, there's definitely some inconsistencies in the plot and pacing. I tend to stick to writing similar things, which is mostly high fantasy settings with angst so I can wax poetic about the sky or some bullshit. I challenged myself to write something more... mundane/slice of life, I guess? For as interesting as the ninja world is, the day to day seems to be pretty similar to ordinary life. So although this definitely has a lot of flaws, I never intended it to become this long or take up this much of my time, so I'm washing my hands clean and posting it. 
> 
> This definitely offered some challenges and I'm still not happy with it, but there's a few scenes throughout all of this that I really love, to be honest. I hope you guys enjoy xx
> 
> Also the final chapter count is 8 but it could change to 7. I made the mistake of writing all of this on one doc and I'm still not sure how to format it all.

_I hope you're doing okay, Iruka-sensei!_

_Pervy-sage told me I shouldn't really be writing letters to anyone, which isn't fair because he still gets to write his pervy books, but I think he's just worried that I might use up all his paper. (Paper that he bought with MY_ _money!) But he's 'gathering information' now (which really means trying to spy on cute girls) so I have some time by myself to do whatever I want._

_You better not be working yourself too hard, Iruka-sensei! You should take a break sometime, or a holiday. When was the last time you even had a holiday? You could do with some relaxing, especially since you don't have to buy me any ramen for a few years! Spend some time with your friends, or something - and I know what you're like! Seeing them at work doesn't count!_

_I hope you're not feeling too lonely. I know I am, just a bit. Pervy-sage is nice (sometimes) and I'm usually so busy with my training that I don't get to think about it a lot. But I do miss everyone. Like Sakura-chan and Shikamaru and Choji and Kiba and Hinata and Shino and Neji and everybody else. I even miss Kakashi-sensei a teensy-tiny bit. (although you can't tell him that!)_

_I miss you most of all though._

_I think pervy-sage is coming back now, so I have to stop writing. I don't want him to shout at me again. He gets all mean and cranky when I use his things._

_Don't miss me too much whilst I'm away! And tell old-man-Teuchi and Ayame that their ramen is still the best! Nobody makes it anywhere near as good as they do._

_From your favourite student, Naruto_

  
  


The letter is folded up neatly, slotted in Iruka's breast pocket as he sits at Ichiraku with a smile so wide it hurts. Already, he's regaled the contents (excluding Naruto's analysis on Iruka's apparent empty-nest syndrome - which is embarrassingly close to the truth) to an excited Teuchi and Ayame - the former so happy to hear the news that Iruka now has more _buy-one-get-one-free_ ramen vouchers than he really knows what to do with. 

Nostalgia runs rampant that evening, the three of them reminiscing over various tales of Naruto over the years - his most infamous escapades as a pre-genin and his tall tales once he started taking missions. Despite the cheerful conversation, however, there is a lingering unrest that hangs over their company. Everything seems too quiet, too still, and the shared smiles and laughter are not quite enough to fill the Naruto-shaped holes left in lapses of conversation and silences that stretch on just a bit too long. Iruka misses the kid; misses his crazy antics and myriad of pranks. Desperately, he wants to see him, speak to him, even just to reprimand him for calling one of the _legendary sannin_ 'pervy-sage'. (One of these days he'd be able to teach Naruto the importance of manners. Perhaps. If pigs ever learn to fly)

Hopefully, Jiraiya is making him eat his vegetables, and he better not be letting Naruto read those books of his, or encouraging him to spy on women, (legendary sannin or not, it can't be _that_ difficult to have basic human decency) or pushing him too hard during training or-

Iruka hadn't realised just how much of his life had revolved around Naruto, but when he orders another bowl of ramen (despite not being all that hungry) he realises that he's looking for excuses to not return home. Not just tonight, either. Recently, he's been picking up more and more late-night shifts at the mission desk - offering to cover the graveyard hours that all shinobi know to avoid like the plague. It's been getting him some weird looks from his colleagues, (Izumo and Kotetsu in particular are convinced he's finally gone insane) but he can't help it. Going home feels… weird, like a jigsaw missing its final piece. 

His apartment, messy and cluttered and entirely too small, somehow feels like an endless, gaping space. Even with his walls covered in countless photos and drawings and his tables strewn with various mugs and other gifts from his friends and students, it doesn't feel _right._ On the late evenings spent making lesson plans or marking, he feels the absence like a blade to the heart, as though his home is but a shadow of its former self, a fire long burnt out.

There is the pile of books stacked by his windowsill. Four piles, to be exact - a collection that he had moved out of his spare room when he decided that if the Hokage wasn't going to do anything about Naruto's atrocious living conditions then he would. Now that spare room is a lurid orange, decorated with a myriad of posters and completed with a permanently unmade bed. He had even let Naruto paint on the walls - anything to make the boy know he was wanted, that this was _his_ space, a place where he belonged.

Sometimes, when his house feels particularly empty and quiet, he'll peek in and stare at the room, messy and disorganised as if he never even left. _Empty-nest syndrome,_ Kotetsu had told him with a snicker. Vehemently, he'd denied it. 

Iruka sometimes hates it when his friends are right.

He was _supposed_ to move the books back in there, now that Naruto no longer needed the space. That was _weeks_ ago and he hasn't even bothered to make a start. 

In truth, it still hasn't really sunk in that Naruto is gone. That he won't be coming back for the next three years. Moving everything back, having things the way they were before _,_ is almost too final. Too… _real._ Iruka really doesn't want to think about it, doesn't want to remind himself how ridiculously attached he is to the kid. 

(He wonders if this is how his parents would have felt if they'd still been alive)

His life feels just a little less bright without Naruto. A little less unexpected and a lot more boring. 

He needs to make plans with Anko, or something; perhaps spend some more time around Genma. It's been a while since he's gotten together with everyone - what, with all his graveyard shifts - maybe he could do with some excitement. Just because he's _responsible,_ that doesn't mean he's as straight-laced and dull as people presume. He can, in fact, let his hair down every once in a while. (although taking all these extra hours _voluntarily_ really doesn't help his case) Besides, even if a part of him would like to wallow in his goddamn empty nest syndrome, Naruto had _asked_ Iruka to spend more time with his friends. Sure, it's just a letter and sure, Naruto won't know if his requests go ignored, but that's not the point. Iruka's not quite sure what 'the point' is, really, but he knows that, if Naruto so requested, he would walk on flaming hot coals for that kid so, in comparison, spending time with friends really doesn't seem like that much of a challenge.

The evening stretches on until dusk begins to settle, seconds whizzing by as Iruka lets the tide of his thoughts pull him away. Throughout it, he can feel the familiar threads of loneliness beginning to knot at his throat, 

Naruto's letter sits like warm sunlight in his flak vest pocket. Bright enough to dispel the shadows, bright enough to keep that almost-painful smile on Iruka's face.

As conversation ebbs and fades, chopsticks aimlessly prodding at the remains of his food, his free hand rises to the pocket. It's a repeated gesture, one that he's already done many times tonight, one that makes his face split with the size of his smile.

He's so incredibly _proud_ of Naruto. So proud of what he's done, what he's continuing to do.

Honestly, it's a blessing that he can continue to be a part of Naruto's life, even if his role as teacher is no longer needed. Overwhelmingly, he wishes that he could send a letter back, wishes he could let Naruto know that everybody misses him just as much. Such a thing is impossible, Iruka already knows, but he hopes that Naruto understands just how much he is loved. How much of an absence he's left in the village, how everything seems so quiet and peaceful and _boring_ when he isn't around to stir up trouble.

He'd almost forgotten what it's like to have a family. Or, at least, something very similar. He doesn't want to pressure Naruto, doesn't want to impose on something that he has no right to; but for as much as he says Naruto is like his little brother… that doesn't quite cover it. Perhaps, when Naruto returns, they can talk about it.

When he eventually leaves Ichiraku that evening, Teuchi gives him a fond look. The man's eyes briefly drop to his breast pocket before he places a careful hand on Iruka's shoulder. With a knowing gesture towards Ayame and a gentle squeeze of his fingers, his eyes crinkle with a kind sort of understanding. "He'll be back before you know it, Iruka-sensei," His comfort means a lot, settling in a careful warmth at the base of Iruka's spine.

He's been coming to Ichiraku's for as long as he can remember; at first with his mother and father and then even after they were gone, Iruka still came. Ichiraku had been something familiar, back in those awful few years, one of the few things he remembered that hadn't been destroyed. Over time, Teuchi became a sort of uncle to him, somebody who looked out for him and all the other orphans when nobody else had bothered - a kind soul who gave them food even when they couldn't pay, who slipped in extra toppings for those children who looked especially skinny.

Teuchi had been one of the first to accept Naruto too, Iruka remembers, he'd been able to see past the monster sealed inside and given nothing but kindness to a boy left hungry and alone. To think that such an unassuming little restaurant could have changed so much. That, in the grand scheme of things, such tiny gestures could move the mountains themselves.

Iruka bows in goodbye, offering heartfelt thanks as he tries to keep a tether on his emotions. Naruto's letter has got him feeling all nostalgic, bittersweet with memory.

The walk home is peaceful. Konoha's streets glow under the golden lamplight, moths with their tea-stained wings casting flickering shadows on the paths down below. Where the garish scars of invasion had once laid, Konoha stands proud once more, the will of fire returning with a flame all the more strong. Iruka's feet _tap-tap-tap_ upon the pavement, accompanied by the faraway buzz of Konoha's nightlife, nothing but a faint mirage from some distant plane as Iruka lets himself float amongst his thoughts. Even when wind blusters in with the night chill, it does little to dampen his sunny disposition. His apartment will be lonely, but the letter in his pocket is more than enough to dispel such clouds for now. Besides, even with Naruto gone, Konoha is his home. It is hard to not be cheerful when the village has been reborn once more. Late-night crickets chirp, birds of prey screech in far-off tunes and Iruka beams up at the stars.

"Maa, sensei. You're looking particularly cheerful tonight."

The smile slides off Iruka's face like water on oil, spine stiffening instinctively.

That unmistakable drawl - only a fool wouldn't be able to recognise it - instantly has Iruka trying to tie down the wayward threads of his infamous temper. _It's late,_ he reprimands himself, _don't get angry. Try not to shout at him. Again._

Head tilted, he tries not to glare too hard at Kakashi. It doesn't really work. Iruka's never been that good at hiding his feelings; his mother used to say his face was like glass, his thoughts and feelings easily read, always transparent. 

The bastard has the gall to smile back at him; singular eye crinkling as though he finds all of this amusing. As though he finds _Iruka_ amusing. 

He's not sure how that makes him feel.

"Ah, not so much now. Apologies for bothering you sensei,"

Iruka sighs, long and deep. Regardless of his… less than stellar opinion of the jonin, he feels a little guilty. He should be harder to read, shouldn't let emotions play across his face in such clarity - especially in front of a rumoured ex-ANBU, a shinobi who's built his career off being able to hide everything behind a mask. Is that what had made Kakashi amused? Does he think Iruka is funny? There are many jonin who find him 'funny', who presume he's weak because he has no desire to rise beyond his rank, because 'how could anybody be happy teaching pre-genin for a living?' 

Irritancy curdles in his stomach, clenches like iron around his lungs. Kakashi's always trying to get a rise out of him, always pushing at his buttons. It pisses him off, _embarrasses_ him in a weird way that Iruka himself doesn't understand.

"You're not bothering me, Hatake-san." A complete lie. Neither of them believe it for a moment. 

"It's been a long day at the academy and my shift at the missions desk was…" he trails off, half-truth left unfinished. The students were almost no problem at all today, (which means he needs to keep a close eye on Konohamaru tomorrow - he's definitely plotting something or other) but the mission desk duty… well, let's just say Kakashi's got a lot of nerve approaching him so casually tonight. Some new chunin assigned to the missions desk had accepted one of _his_ half-assed reports today and Iruka had wasted most of his evening trying to translate the damn thing into something legible. He doesn't know how Kakashi gets his reports to be so ridiculously awful, but it's strange how he somehow _(always)_ seems to be the one to deal with it.

If he were to be presumptuous, he'd say that Kakashi is doing the whole thing on purpose. It's pretty hard to believe that one of Konoha's finest prodigies can't piece together a half-decent report, and it's even harder to believe that _any_ ninja above genin rank doesn't know how to spell _kunai._

"You don't have to lie to me, sensei." A pause, something flickers across Kakashi's visible eye. (Amusement? It better not be) "Have a good evening." An incline of his head signals the end of the conversation and yet Kakashi twitches as if wanting to say something more. In the low light, his face (or the small part Iruka can actually see which, really, isn't much to go off) looks strangely pink. It _has_ to be a trick, a reflection of _something_ somewhere. Or maybe Iruka's been struck with a sudden bout of colourblindness. Which is impossible, he knows, but it certainly seems more likely than _Sharingan Kakashi_ blushing at him like a goddamn pre-genin. Mask shifting, Kakashi opens his mouth, freezes, and then snaps it shut. (Or, at least, Iruka thinks so. He's just guessing, it's hard to tell what Kakashi is doing when literally ninety-percent of him is covered up) The pink on his face darkens - another trick of the light, perhaps? - and Kakashi swivels on his heels, hand raised in a semi-wave. 

The entire thing is sickeningly awkward. Certainly a disappointment to the rumour mill, who seems to think Kakashi is some sort of suave sex beast. Not that he's ever bought into that sort of shit anyway. (A man who reads porn as much as Kakashi can't be well-versed in such things. And Iruka has in fact - shamefully - read _Icha Icha._ From first-hand experience, he can confirm it's actual garbage)

Honestly, Iruka doesn't know what compels him at that moment to reach out to the other - slow enough that the movement won't be read as a threat. He does, though, against his better judgement. Maybe it's guilt or maybe it's his lingering good mood or maybe he's been spending too much time with Anko, Genma and Raido and some of that famous jonin madness has spread. Maybe it's something else entirely. Maybe it's something to do with the not-red of Kakashi's cheeks or maybe it's because for all he says he doesn't like the jonin, there's something else that swirls around with that dislike that he's spent the last few years of his life trying to avoid. 

Whatever _maybe_ it is, his fingers are on Kakashi's forearm, thumb resting just above his pulse. The skin jumps in uneven rhythm, strangely quick, but when Kakashi pulls himself away Iruka finds a small part of himself missing the contact. 

_(Fucking hell._ _Missing the contact? What is this, some seedy romance novel? Is Iruka going to look down and find he's somehow grown some 'heaving bosoms'? He knew he shouldn't have started thinking about Icha Icha)_

He's still all emotional over Naruto's letter. That's what it is. That's the only explanation for it. There's no other possible reason as to why he would be thinking like that. None at all.

The skin on Kakashi's forearm, the part laid bare from the standard uniform, had been just a tad cool though. Scarred, but softer than the calloused pads of Iruka's fingers and- _why is he still thinking about this?_

"It's Naruto. He sent me a letter. I- that's why I was happy." 

He word vomits, anything to distract himself from the phantom touch of Kakashi's pulse ( _don't think of throbbing, don't think of throbbing-)_ beneath his fingertips and only feels slightly ( _very_ ) pathetic about it. Certainly, Kakashi couldn't give less of a damn about this; he probably has no time for Iruka's sentimentality over a student he hasn't taught in years. In fact, he'd said as much during that infamous meeting. A meeting Iruka really can't forget, considering he somehow managed to put his own foot in his mouth in front of all of Konoha's respected elites - including the Hokage himself. 

(Asuma still makes fun of him for that. Says he'd never seen a human look so close to spontaneously exploding. Bastard)

A nasty, small part of his brain whispers that - if Kakashi had listened to him back then - maybe they wouldn't be in this mess right now. Maybe Sasuke would have stayed, maybe Naruto wouldn't have had to leave. 

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels shame. Not for a second should he blame Kakashi for the events that transpired. Kakashi had done nothing but believe in his students, trust in their strength. 

Yes; sure, things had ended badly, Team 7 had collapsed and Sasuke was… well, Iruka doesn't really know what he's planning to do; but anything involving _Orochimaru_ and _revenge_ is only going to have disastrous results. But, as Iruka reminds himself, he was Sasuke's teacher first. It was _his_ responsibility to help Sasuke, he shouldn't have let a boy riddled with so much _hate_ become a genin in the first place. He could have done more. He _should_ have done more.

(But perhaps there was nothing that either of them could do)

Shaking his head free of such thoughts, no good can come from dwelling on unchangeables, he presses onwards. The silence has stretched on too long and Iruka's never seen the jonin look more uncomfortable in all his life. The man looks like he's about to shit himself. Or be sick. Or both.

"He mentioned you too, Hatake-san," he feels compelled to mention that, even though Kakashi keeps staring just over Iruka's shoulder as opposed to meeting his eyes. Awkward bastard. Perchance, Kakashi had received his own letter from Naruto, but still... He's obviously important to the kid, incredibly so, and despite his personal misgivings - Hatake Kakashi is a good ninja, a credit to the village. Iruka has to respect that. 

"He misses you." The sentence feels weighted, heavy with nostalgia. For a moment, Kakashi's eye mists with a far-off expression; something both fond and haunted and plagued by guilt. In a flash, it vanishes and that gaze is turned to Iruka.

Trying not to squirm under the stare, he gets the faint impression that he's being scrutinised. For what, he has no clue, but that singular eye is cold and grey and utterly unreadable as he stares at him, the light from the lampposts casting dark shadows across his already masked face. Contemplative, perhaps he could be described; lost in thought, brow furrowed as if solving a particularly interesting puzzle. He looks at Iruka as if he cannot figure him out, as if Iruka is a mystery, something that doesn't follow rhyme or reason or sense.

He _hates_ this expression. It's the same one that Kakashi had worn after their now legendary argument before the Chunin exams. It's the same one he wears each and every time he hands Iruka a mission report that looks like it's been dragged through the depths of hell and then sent back again just to make sure there's not a single possibility that it could be accepted. (who the fuck thinks it's okay to sign their reports with a smiley face? _Honestly!_ ) It's the same one he wears whenever Iruka gets angry, the studious eye that surveys him from afar when Iruka ignores regulation and rank and chews out whoever thinks their position as a ninja makes sub-par work acceptable. It makes him feel like an experiment _,_ as though he's some weird creature that needs to be studied. _Uncomfortable_ , is what Iruka feels every time this look is turned upon him. Embarrassed, vulnerable, as though he wants to hide but he cannot figure out what from.

Such expression, to Iruka, reeks of disrespect. He is not unaccustomed to ninja - particularly jonin - trying to 'figure him out'. There are many others who try to push his buttons, try to see what makes him tick. Many that think he is too soft, too emotional, for his position; many that doubt his abilities and doubt his skill. And yet, for all those that have come before, none of them have ever managed to do it like Kakashi. 

Putting it nicely, Kakashi is eccentric. Not so nicely? He's fucking _weird_ . Sure, he's a jonin - weirdness comes with the territory; but even then, Iruka _has_ jonin friends and none of them are anywhere near this bizarre. (well, excluding Anko, but Iruka grew up with her. And Orochimaru exists, so… she doesn't count)

"Kakashi," the silence shatters, Kakashi's voice kept low - almost whispered, as if talking to himself.

"What?" Ever intelligent, he replies. He can't remember what they were talking about - he's certain it was about Naruto, but Iruka second-guesses himself. This is the longest conversation he's had with Kakashi in years, he'd forgotten how easily the man could throw him off-kilter. Although, back then, Iruka had been a teenager - young and awkward and a little bit naive and very much crushing _hard._ There's not really an excuse at this age. Or not an excuse that he's willing to think about, anyway.

"You called me Hatake-san," Kakashi says slowly, as if this explains everything. Iruka blinks back at him, really hoping his expression isn't as vacant as it feels. Again, rumour mill, you're _wrong_ . This isn't sexy at all. _Although,_ his traitorous thoughts whisper, _it's a little bit endearing. In a weird, socially depraved sort of way._

"That was my father. You can call me Kakashi." 

"Oh." Sucking on his teeth, Iruka tries to keep the bemused expression off his face. It feels a little bit obvious now, why else would Kakashi just say his own name? He feels a little bit dizzy, a little bit sick. His heart is beating just a tad too fast and his face is definitely warm. He thought he was over this, he thought he'd gotten rid of his stupid little- God, he doesn't even want to admit it. He's not nineteen anymore, damn it. 

Besides, the thought of such feelings brings a taste of bitterness in the back of Iruka's throat. He _promised_ himself, after what happened last time, that he wouldn't do this again. That he didn't _want_ anything like that. He has his friends, he has Naruto. He doesn't need… _crushes_ or _romance_ or anything like that. 

His back twinges with that familiar ache, his heart clenches with a pain he can't seem to let go. 

He doesn't like Kakashi. Not one bit. Even if there's something about him that he can't stop _thinking_ about.

"Okay." At a loss for words, he tries not to think too hard about the heat rising to his cheeks. "Goodnight then, Hata-Kakashi-san."

Somehow, Kakashi's singular eye manages to look both pleased and disappointed. Iruka's quite impressed with the range of expression in such a limited space. His thoughts whirr past him in bizarre fashion, quick and nervous and incomprehensible as they flitter on by. Again, the mask shifts and Iruka almost thinks Kakashi is going to say something more but then he swallows - a little too deeply - and Iruka can see pink again. 

"Goodnight, Iruka-sensei." 

Iruka watches him walk away for a moment, rubbing his eyes in disbelief after he swears he sees Kakashi trip over his own feet. There's no way-

He must be more tired than he thought.

x

Naruto's letter, reread countless times over the following days, is slotted neatly onto Iruka's haphazardly organised cabinet. It's his _memory cabinet_ (as he refers to it) - one of the few pieces of furniture from his childhood home that managed to survive the Kyuubi attack other than a rickety old chair and a dingy-looking drying rack that takes up far too much space in his already cramped apartment.

Most of what he was able to recover now resides in his so-called memory cabinet _._ Mostly mundane things - various seemingly worthless bits and bobs that he will never get rid of. His father's old hairbrush, for example. The threadbare remains of _Mopsy,_ his favourite childhood toy, who's missing one of her arms and has two very singed ears. He has his mother's favourite vase, next to the misshapen mug Iruka made for her birthday. The remaining photographs of them are here too. One when they still lived in Mist, with Iruka just a babe in his mother's arms. Another of him and his father wearing matching flower crowns, squinting against the summer sun and one of the three of them stood outside their old home, the picture taken by their neighbour only a month before the Kyuubi attack.

Over the years, Iruka has gradually added bits and pieces to the collection. Something which has gotten him a reputation amongst his friends as a bit of a hoarder. Sentimentality isn't a usual trait amongst most ninjas; but he _likes_ to surround himself with things that remind him of his most precious people, even if some of it looks like a bunch of old junk. It's important to him, incredibly so. 

There's a scarf more holes than wool that Anko had knitted him hung on one of the cabinet's handles; the first kunai he'd ever owned (and broke) standing in a shitty little glass Genma had painted for him when he decided Iruka didn't have enough 'Genma-memorabilia' - as he had referred to it. There's a photo of him and the Sandaime drinking tea together, his eyes tear-stained but his smile bright. Next to it is a poorly carved bear (Iruka thinks it's a bear anyway, the craftsmanship leaves a lot to be desired) that Asuma made for his thirteenth birthday, the same day that he and Asuma became something more akin to brothers than simply friends. 

Precious memories line each and every surface of the old cabinet, a reminder of things both good and bad. Items from people both still a part of his life and those long gone. 

Naruto's letter looks like it belongs there, slotted between a pot of dried bluebells Ino had gifted him after her graduation and a mug from Sakura that won't fit into his cupboard. (he has a _lot_ of mugs and yes, he's kept them all)

Before he can turn away, however, a particular photo catches his eye. It's one that Naruto himself had given him - one that only he and the members of Team Seven have a copy of. Naruto's first day under his new jonin-sensei. 

Kakashi Hatake stares up at Iruka, picture-eye crinkled in a smile.

In all honesty, he doesn't like the man. Not at all. He _had_ , a while ago now - back around the time he had realised a life out on the field really wasn't suited for him. In fact, it had been Kakashi himself who had recommended Iruka for a position as teacher, and Kakashi who had encouraged him to pursue such a path in the face of adversity. Not even counting that, on one memorable occasion, he'd offered _advice -_ particularly good advice which had, somewhere along the line, led to Iruka opening his heart to a boy who he now considers family.

Looking back, Iruka has to grudgingly admit that his respect for Kakashi had perhaps strayed a little beyond admiration and become a little more of a… He doesn't want to use the word _crush_ , but - if he's being honest with himself - that is exactly what it was. Kakashi had been _kind_ to him, showed him compassion and encouragement and had never once blamed him for what transpired on their shared mission. It also helped that Kakashi was - or _is -_ attractive. Even with most of his face covered, there's an aura of mystery around him that seems to make anyone with eyes begin to swoon on their feet. It had gradually faded over the years, his feelings for the man soon replaced by another, but then things with that had gone… pear-shaped and Iruka had found himself gradually sinking back into his teenage infatuations.

Of course, that crush is definitely non-existent now. One-hundred percent, it's gone. After that blow-up over the Chunin Exams, he had made sure of it. 

And yet, even after apologising for his behaviour (he was wrong, as much as he loathes to admit it) Kakashi seems to have made it his personal mission to make life at the mission desk absolute hell. Maybe it's some sort of divine punishment, something sent to chunin who overstep their rank, or maybe Kakashi thinks it's funny to be a bit of a prick. (The reports the jonin gives in are honestly _embarrassing,_ Iruka's seen children who don't know how to write with better grammar than Kakashi)

It really doesn't help that Iruka is almost certain that Kakashi does it to get a rise out of him. For some bizarre reason, he seems to find Iruka's anger entertaining; as if he takes particular enjoyment in riling Iruka up until he has to fight the urge to shout the damn village down. The whole thing comes off as condescending, _arrogant_. As though he is some little plaything that Kakashi can use for his amusement. 

Truthfully, Iruka has spent most of his life trying to gain the respect of his fellow shinobi. Konoha has… issues. (which is putting it lightly) Becoming a genin is interpreted as _coming of age,_ reaching jonin is deemed as the one singular dream of all shinobi. Power is valued over strength, the ability to kill deemed more important than the ability to _care_.

Iruka teaches the Will of Fire to his students, teaches them that love and compassion and connection with others is a treasure beyond anything else. Rank is redundant, or so he tries to teach. It does not matter how much power you have, it only matters what you choose to do with it. 

Unfortunately, not every ninja feels the same way and Iruka finds, again and again, that he has to prove himself, defend his decision to remain chunin when (if he put in the training) he could rise to tokubetsu, at least. Giving people a respect for Konoha's archives and inner workings or proving that fuuinjutsu techniques are far more useful than people perceive them to be, _that_ is what Iruka spends so much of his life trying to teach. After all his effort, after the energy he pours into each and every thing he does, he will not allow people to walk all over him. 

_Especially_ people who think it's okay to read porn around children. 

So, Iruka doesn't really like Kakashi very much. Besides, Kakashi is a prodigy. A child genius who grew into a shinobi burned into the pages of Bingo Books everywhere. To Kakashi, Iruka must be nothing more than an over-emotional chunin; one who does nothing but demand satisfactory mission reports and chase Naruto (and now Konohamaru) down from the Hokage Monument. Iruka can't imagine Kakashi likes him much either - and those god awful reports only prove it. Why else would he give in mangled report after mangled report? 

Of course, Iruka can keep things civil, - not that he has much of a choice, considering he and Kakashi share the same circle of friends - but that's about it. They're acquaintances at best and Iruka has never once considered them to become anything more. He'd hoped, perhaps, for something else, a long time ago. But that was before _then_ , before _him._

Iruka's not made for relationships like that, not anymore. The scar on his back only proves it; a permanent reminder of his weakness. A mark from _him_ that will last forever.

Besides, even if things had not happened as they did, he and Kakashi have nothing in common. They're too different, polarising personalities that would only clash and crumble and burn each other to the very bone. 

Yet, as he looks at that photograph of Team Seven; he finds his eyes being drawn to a scowling Sasuke. 

Iruka stands corrected, they do have one thing in common.

Both of them failed Sasuke.


	2. Letter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are pretty good. That is, of course, until they're not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops this is a long one. 
> 
> If you really, really squint you can almost see the genma/raido and asuma/kurenai content in this chapter. I mean, like two words of it, but it's there. Somewhere.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy x
> 
> Also hopefully Ao3 doesn't put extra spaces after all my italics this time? Idk why it always does it, but it annoys me so much.

_Iruka-sensei,_

_I hope my last letter got to you okay. I wanted to write to you more, but pervy-sage says I need to be more careful._

_I've been learning a super awesome new technique! I wish I could tell you more about it but I don't think I'm allowed to… I'll just have to master it as quickly as I can and then I can show you when I get back home!_

_You better have listened to my last letter and spent some time with your friends! Maybe you should try and make some new friends, since I'm not around. You can be pretty boring sometimes, Iruka-sensei, you should try and do more unpredictable things._

_I know Kakashi-sensei is a weirdo and a bit of a pervert, but you should totally try and talk to him. He's all lonely and his mask is kind of creepy but he's also pretty cool! Maybe you could try and see what he looks like under his mask. Not that I'd care about something stupid like that. (If you do though, maybe take a photo of it or something. Or draw it. Or remember it really, really well so you know exactly what he looks like in case you ever need to know that. And then you could totally tell me, even though I definitely don't care about dumb stuff like that)_

_You should show this letter to him! He's probably all depressed and sad that I'm not around anymore and I bet he'd be glad to hear from his favourite student. (Me!) I wanted to write more letters but pervy-sage is real mean and apparently I should be grateful that he's letting me write to you at all, so I guess you're gonna have to tell everybody how I'm doing._

_Oops, we've got to go now. Pervy-sage is making us move around all the time. We never stay in the same place for very long - unless there are girls to spy on, and then pervy-sage makes us stay there for ages! Seriously, he's such a creep._

_I wish you were here, Iruka-sensei. You're pretty scary when you're angry, I'm sure you could get pervy-sage to stop being so gross._

_Hopefully you get this letter. And remember, don't work too hard!_

_From the future Hokage, Naruto_   
  


Bemused, Iruka can't stop the swell of fondness that comes with Naruto's latest letter. He's about as subtle as a brick to the face, and it's not hard to find the hidden _you should make more friends, Iruka-sensei_ laid underneath the weird ramblings about Kakashi-sensei's apparently highly important face. A mystery, certainly.

Despite the… accidental insults, (the vein on Iruka's forehead works overtime at the 'boring' part) he can tell this is just Naruto's way of worrying. Even if it does feel a little on the nose, and a little rude, the kid just wants to make sure his precious people are okay. Although a few lessons on manners wouldn't go amiss.

Even with those pure intentions, Iruka could manage just fine without the constant references to how lonely he apparently is. The last letter had mentioned that too - he's all too aware that he can come off as a little bit of a workaholic, but he does actually have a social life. He's not… deprived of all human contact now that Naruto is gone.

Or at least that's what he tells himself as he sits in the mission office, working a shift that isn't his, because apparently he's a masochist and _offers_ to work overtime for people who can't be bothered to show up to their jobs. (Seriously, he's going to have a stern talk with Azami when he next sees them) He's not even supposed to be working today, but he'd barely left the academy before a harried-looking chunin had requested his assistance - something about being short-staffed and troublesome jonin making their jobs harder than it needed to be - and Iruka, always one to help, had let himself get roped into it before he realised Azami had been scheduled to work the next _four_ hours. And apparently there was nobody else in all of Konoha who could cover this shift, because Iruka's luck is just _that_ brilliant.

_There goes my evening,_ he thinks as he mourns the loss of the nap he'd been so looking forward to. 

You know what? Perhaps Naruto did have a point. Iruka honestly can't remember the last time he had a day off, and he's been so busy writing up various lesson plans that it's been a while since he relaxed with friends. Anko and Genma have already accosted him once this week and even a mild-mannered Kurenai had asked if he would be joining them for drinks any time soon. He's waiting for Asuma now. A planned ambush this evening, most likely, and (if Iruka knows anything about Asuma, which he does) there's probably going to be some subtle (which means _not_ subtle, Asuma has the tact of a bull in a china shop) probing on his love life. Which is a bit rich coming from the man who's been mooning after Kurenai since his pre-genin days, but he _is_ just trying to look out for Iruka. (which is what he has to remind himself every time Asuma gives very Gai-reminiscent lectures about finding love whilst he simultaneously misses every single signal Kurenai sends his way - the man is lucky she seems to find his obtuseness endearing) 

Although, returning to the contents of Naruto's letter, he's pretty certain that Kakashi won't be added to his list of friends any time soon. It's damn clear that Naruto's more interested in what's beneath Kakashi's mask than having his two old teachers become anything other than acquaintances. It's an amusing thought, one that has Iruka hiding a smirk as he stamps his next report, offering the ever instinctual _welcome back_ to the returning ninja. _Him and Kakashi, friends?_ Yeah right, the sky will turn green before _that_ ever happens.

The next few hours pass at a snail's pace, making Iruka ever-regretful for offering to pick up Azami's shift - the new chunin who's shoddy work had already cost him a good few hours the other week. Really, he should be trying to get the kid reassigned. She's eloquent and intelligent but incredibly lazy. Over the past few weeks, she's made it increasingly clear that she thinks she's above Konoha's internal duties and her not bothering to show up to work _at all_ today only proves that. Iruka's almost considering putting her on the list for substitute teachers and then subsequently taking several days off. (He's got a week's worth of paid leave that shouldn't go to waste) All fantasy, though. Even he isn't _that_ cruel. 

However, Iruka thinks as some puffed-up jonin tries to insist he's above the laws of paperwork, if she carries on with this poor work ethic… well, stranger things have happened.

Already feeling a headache coming on, Iruka gestures for the next in line to come up. He's too distracted with wondering exactly how he should deal with Azami to take proper notice of just who is waiting. 

" _Sensei_ ," the man fucking _purrs,_ "fancy seeing you here."

You know what? Fuck it. Azami better be ready to deal with a horde of hyped-up pre-genin because _of course,_ this shift has to be when _he_ gets back. What are the odds? 

"Hata- Kakashi-san," the man in question looks a little worse for wear, uniform bedraggled and smears of dried blood staining his silver hair; but Iruka can see no clear injuries - nothing that won't heal fine on its own, anyway. At least this time he doesn't have to shout at the jonin to _go see a goddamn medic. You've been stabbed, and you're getting blood all over the floor._ (Iruka had spent the remainder of his evening trying to get said blood out. It's still stained) 

"Welcome back." Iruka offers a smile, Naruto's letter running like a mantra in his head. Hopefully thinking of that makes the smile meet his eyes. 

All he gets in reply is a noncommittal grunt and a mission report shoved into his face. _Rude_ , but whatever. It's been thrown it at him before, so he'll take what he can get. Accepting it with forced grace, Iruka steels himself for the hell of a report that no doubt awaits him. 

A genuine _hush_ settles across the room, colleagues looking on in amusement as they temporarily neglect their own duties. If there's one thing that Iruka's colleagues know, it is that Kakashi's mission reports are notoriously awful and if Iruka is there, it's only a matter of time before the show begins. _People need to get out more,_ Iruka thinks to himself as over half the room audibly holds their breath. 

It's a B-Ranked mission, Iruka notes. A simple one, one that wouldn't require anything too complicated. A solo too, so Kakashi didn't even have to worry about having a team to summarise. That should mean that it's almost impossible to fuck up but Iruka's been at this job long enough to know that if anyone can achieve the impossible, it's Kakashi. 

He breaks the seal, holds his breath as he readies himself for the bedraggled remains of whatever shit Kakashi thinks is suitable to hand him. Inhaling deeply, preparing his lungs for the abuse they will soon receive, he opens it. Hopefully his vocal cords can get through these trying times. 

He blinks. He rubs his eyes. _Is he seeing things?_

The report is… satisfactory. A quick scan proves that it could be better; it's certainly not the best report Iruka has ever seen, but it's adequate. Acceptable. _Decent._

Despite the chicken-scratch writing, it is actually legible. Ish. There aren't too many weird stains on it and the scroll is only a little creased. There's a doodle of a dolphin in the top corner of one page that has the Vein of Doom twitching in Iruka's forehead; section 5 is a little bare-bones and there are only a few spelling mistakes that the harsh-marker in him zones in on immediately, but other than that… is he hallucinating or has Kakashi actually written a decent report? 

He makes a sort of strangled sound in his throat, one that has the people around him vibrating in excitement. They're hiding smiles, waiting for the oncoming storm. 

Well, there's certainly a storm coming. A storm in the shape of Iruka's life crashing down on his head because _what the fuck is happening._

"I- uh, I mean," Iruka's lost for words. Is this the real Kakashi? Perhaps he should inform the Hokage or one of the ANBU guards about this strange behaviour. Request that they keep an eye on the jonin, just for a bit. It has to be an imposter, it _has_ to be. 

Iruka's good at sensing chakra, though - not quite at sensor-level, but close enough. He would have picked up any abnormalities in Kakashi's chakra signature, he's certain of it. Even after double-checking for any signs of henge, Iruka has to accept that this is the real deal, as implausible as it all seems.

"Thank you for your hard work, Kakashi-san." He manages, voice only a little stilted, as he clears the report to file later. That one, slate-grey eye twinkles with mirth; crinkles with the force of a wicked smile. 

He's still in shock, and painfully aware of his colleagues behind who are beginning to murmur in not so hushed whispers. It's a bit of an embarrassment, to be honest; Iruka has pre-genin who can talk amongst themselves with more secrecy than that; but then again, he's almost certain they're trying to make themselves heard. They're going to give him hell once this is all over. They're like animals, colleagues. Forged in the darkest pits of hell with their sole purpose to make each and every hour spent at work as miserable as goddamn possible. 

Pushing the flush of his cheeks down and regathering his senses, Iruka stiffly inclines his head. In response, Kakashi just bows ever so slightly, eye still creased in that signature smile.

Iruka's heart suddenly does something very strange. His stomach twists. The line of Kakashi's lips are barely visible through the fabric of his mask but from this distance, Iruka can see how they're turned up at the edges. All of a sudden, the room feels very hot. _Iruka_ feels very hot, and when Kakashi's eyes meet his, it feels as if the room is spinning. Kakashi slouches and Iruka follows the line of his shoulders down to the length of his legs. They're very long legs. Toned, _shapely._ Nice to look at. And, as Iruka already knows, they lead up to a very nice behind that he's definitely going to look at when Kakashi walks out of this room. 

Wait. _What?_ What is his brain doing? 

He's beginning to get pissed off. More with himself than anything else; but he's also beginning to suspect Kakashi's miracle report is yet another cog in the 'ruin Iruka's day' machine. And those legs. _Illegal_ , all of it.

"Any more news from Naruto?" Kakashi drawls, voice the epitome of unbothered but his eye sharp. The question catches Iruka off guard, Kakashi's expression suddenly piercing in its intensity. He's looking at him like _that_ again, although this time there's a gleam of satisfaction there. As if he's figured out something, as though a piece of the puzzle has finally been slotted in. Iruka hopes he isn't flushing too hard; the weird tangent with the legs has really thrown him for a loop. He… he's an _adult._ He doesn't _do_ romance and crushes and thinking about people's legs, no matter how nice those legs might be. 

He doesn't know what it's supposed to mean. What is Kakashi looking for? What's going on in that head of his. 

"Yes, actually," the murmuring of Iruka's colleagues is growing louder, they're getting more and more curious. He tries to ignore them. They're probably disappointed that he hasn't started shouting yet, but not to worry. If they carry on like this, his vocal cords will get all the exercise they need. "I got a letter this morning."

It must be the lingering good mood, or perhaps the request in Naruto's letter, that makes Iruka continue to speak. It's definitely not the fact that Kakashi's eye is bright and Iruka can see the twitching of his lips beneath the mask. It's definitely not the fact that Iruka is still too hot and the room hasn't stopped spinning. 

"You can read it, if you like. It's at home but I get off at eight."

There's a small burst of satisfaction when Kakashi's eye goes wide - his usual poker-face is obviously surprised. Iruka likes knowing that he can be unexpected, that whatever Kakashi _thinks_ he might know about Iruka isn't correct. 

This time, when a decidedly pretty shade of pink begins to dust Kakashi's visible cheek, there's no mistaking it. 

Iruka almost chokes on his own tongue.

It only gets weirder when Kakashi begins scrubbing a hand through his hair, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He looks… nervous? Sheepish? He doesn't know. He's _never_ seen Kakashi act like this and from the sudden silence of his co-workers; Iruka thinks he isn't the only one taken aback. 

"Ah, I can't make it tonight," he apologises and, surprisingly, Iruka believes it. He can place the expression now, after hearing Kakashi's despondent tone. It's _disappointment._ Kakashi is _disappointed_. And, to Iruka's surprise, so is he. 

Why? Conversation with Kakashi is always stilted and awkward, he should be _happy_ that Kakashi has essentially turned him down. And yet… Kakashi's face is still pink-tinted, he's shuffling on his feet and his fingers are twitching by his sides. 

_Cute,_ the word flashes in Iruka's mind of his own volition. As soon as it comes, he scoffs at his own ridiculousness. Top-level jonin aren't _cute_ and even if they were, Iruka _definitely_ wouldn't use it to describe Kakashi. 

( _Although,_ that voice returns, _he has got nice legs)_

"I'm free tomorrow, though." It's said with such hopefulness, Kakashi's voice pitched a little too high for it to be considered normal. People are definitely beginning to take notice now and Iruka can already hear the rumour mill beginning to churn. "You like ramen, right?"

Iruka nods dumbly, telling himself that this is purely professional. Just two teachers meeting to talk about their ex-student. Iruka's most certainly never had a crush on Kakashi and, in turn, Kakashi isn't blushing at him like a pre-genin in love.

The butterflies in his stomach tell a different story, however, leaving Iruka unsure as to what all of this means. 

He does not have a _crush_ on Kakashi. Not again. This is just… loneliness. He's just desperately lonely now that Naruto is gone and he's just clinging onto anything slightly unexpected that's thrown his way. 

_Fuck_ , he doesn't know which one sounds worse. 

There's some solace taken in the fact that Kakashi's face is unmistakably red and that one eye looks uncharacteristically nervous, but the mask hides any other emotions that could be playing on his face. Suddenly envious, Iruka wishes he had that brand of jonin madness and mystery that let him have a weird face-covering trademark. He should invest in a paper bag. Or pull an Aburame and find a coat with the highest collar imaginable - he wonders if they make ones that cover the whole face. Just one big slab of coat that hides everything. 

With an awkward wave and an even more awkward bow, Kakashi shuffles out the room. As if freed from some spell, the mission room gradually grows louder as conversations begin to re-spark. The quiet, thankfully, soon passes and Iruka is left feeling as if he's been tipped upside down for far too long. Shaking free of his imagination, he calls the next in line forwards. (an impatient looking jonin who eyes Iruka with an unimpressed stare) 

As he gets himself back into the groove of things, Kakashi's miracle report safely stashed away and buried by a flux of returning ninja, Iruka hears the squeaky laughter from one of his more annoying colleagues. Ren taps him on the shoulder, expression calculating as they lean into Iruka's personal space. 

"Did you just get a _date_ with the Copy-Nin?" 

He vehemently denies it but the rise of a red flush doesn't make him all that convincing. Ren, ever the gossip, does not say anything but there's a glint in his eyes that lets Iruka know this isn't over. Kakashi is a hot topic amongst Konoha gossip - specifically for his desirability. He's been considered 'off the market' for years, too damaged by his life in battle to ever make an ideal partner. If people begin to gather the wrong idea… if they begin to read into a love story that isn't there… Iruka sighs. Well, Naruto had wanted him to step outside his comfort zone. 

This probably isn't what he had in mind, though.

Guilt curdles in Iruka's gut, writhing and twisting until it makes itself at home in the dip of Iruka's spine. He shouldn't be doing this, he _can't_ do this. There's a reason he doesn't date, a reason he doesn't do things like _this_. Even if it's not supposed to be that, even if there's nothing romantic about it at all, there's no way Iruka can pull a _no homo_ when he just spent the past ten minutes trying to not think about Kakashi's legs. Buried under the pretence and contempt, there's no doubt that a little… crush has been harbouring. Something that Iruka knows he shouldn't encourage. 

Even if this isn't a date, even if it's just his own imagination and nosey co-workers putting ideas into his head, Iruka _knows_ himself. He knows what could happen, knows what he can't do. (not again)

_You should try and do more unpredictable things,_ Iruka remembers from Naruto's last letter. 

Against his better judgement, Iruka thinks that this could be a good thing. Possibly. Perhaps. 

Tomorrow isn't a date. But, if it was, Iruka convinces himself that maybe - just _maybe_ \- that wouldn't be so bad. 

His spine burns and Iruka feels _dirty._

(There's nothing to worry about. Kakashi wouldn't want somebody like him anyway)

x

Later, as Iruka stretches his arms up over his head, sighing in relief as his back pops and cracks with the movement, he thinks back to Kakashi's report. Specifically, the dolphin doodled in the corner. Maybe he's reading into things too much, but why a dolphin? Iruka is used to the scribbles in Kakashi's margins, but they're usually variations of his signature henohenomoheji and various dog-related doodles. _So why the dolphin?_ His mission hadn't been anywhere near a place with a coastline, Iruka had checked. 

The only connection he can make is with his own name. But even then, he wasn't supposed to work the missions desk today. Even if it was some weird… _thing_ meant for Iruka, how could Kakashi predict Azami not showing up to her shift? And how could he predict Iruka taking her place? The man is a genius but he's not prophetic. 

It has to be a coincidence. It _has_ to be.

x

At seven o'clock in the evening, the day after the 'miracle report', Iruka had suddenly realised he and Kakashi hadn't set a time for their… meeting. (He won't call it a date, goddammit. After an afternoon of teasing from his co-workers, Iruka never wants to hear the word 'date' again) 

But, to his surprise, when eight o'clock rolls around and Iruka is saying his goodbyes, Kakashi is already waiting for him. Iruka doesn't know what he was expecting; perhaps for Kakashi to be late (he's heard the horror stories from Naruto) or for him to not even show up at all. But no, Kakashi is here, standing all alone in the corridor pretending to read _Icha Icha Violence._ Iruka already feels himself getting irritated. 

To be here already, though… he must have checked Iruka's schedule. How else would he have known the exact time he'd be finished? The thought that Kakashi would have checked, would have gone out of his way to find out such a thing, it's strangely endearing. 

_It's not a date,_ he reminds himself when Kakashi offers a lazy salute his way, straightening up as Iruka approaches. _It's not a date,_ he repeats when Kakashi smiles and Iruka's insides do something weird and slightly nauseating. _It's not a date_ runs like a mantra in his head as they walk together under a twilight sky. _It's not a date_ is whispered until they don't even feel like words anymore and Kakashi leans closer to Iruka than is strictly necessary.

It feels a bit like a date when they're sat next to each other at Ichiraku's, the silence stretching on for just a little bit too long and Iruka staring at his food as if something is going to magically save him from whatever this evening is supposed to be. They've barely even sat down and already they don't have anything to talk about.

Iruka blames his co-workers. Sure, it had sort-of-almost felt like a date when Kakashi had asked, but Iruka was willing to accept that as the make-believe nature of a lingering crush with a little dash of self-pity and loneliness. Then, when his co-workers had jumped on the interaction like flies to honey, Iruka had started to think he wasn't being so delusional after all. Today's shift had been full of nothing but jokes and good-natured ribbing made at his expense, and then had come the advice. The… _dating advice._ As if Iruka had never been on a date before, or didn't even know what romance was.

Sure, it's been a while. Iruka hasn't been in a proper relationship for a year or two, and his last relationship had… well, it had lasted for a long time, so his experience with first-dates is - admittedly - pretty outdated. But even excluding that, it's not like Iruka doesn't know what romance is, he's _had_ partners since then. Although he supposes a series of one night stands and short-term flings don't really count as 'proper' relationships - but Iruka is _happy_ where he is. He doesn't _want_ to date. Not after- 

Whatever. He should have just ignored his colleagues. As well-meaning as their advice had been, this isn't a date. They're meeting over _Naruto_ for god's sake. This is just the two of them bonding over a shared student. Nothing more, nothing less.

Even when Kakashi demands that he pays (although Iruka eventually manages to convince him to use one of his _buy-one-get-one-free_ vouchers, since he has enough to last a lifetime) and even if he keeps looking over at Iruka like _that,_ it still doesn't make this a date. Maybe that's just what his face looks like. Maybe Iruka is reading into _that_ expression. Maybe _that_ expression is actually a look of pure, burning hatred and Iruka should stop trying to manifest things that don't exist.

The awkwardness certainly makes it feel like a date, though. The long stretch of silence that seems never-ending. Iruka might not be on the dating scene, but _everybody_ remembers those awful first dates. And this? This entire situation is getting uncomfortably close to exactly that. 

"Um, here's Naruto's letter," Iruka eventually says, sliding the slightly creased paper over the counter. In a perfect world, he would have waited a little bit. Let the conversation flow, created an atmosphere that had been anything other than soul-crushingly awkward. In general, Iruka likes to think he's pretty good with people. With Kakashi, though? Well...

He might as well get this over with. 

Silence resumes once more, only broken by the gentle rustle of paper and the clicking of Iruka's chopsticks as he tries not to eat too quickly. He needs this meal to last him as long as possible, just so he has something to _do_ instead of think about how awkward this all is. Or think about how this could be classed as a date. 

The longer this evening drags on, the more the word _date_ blares around in Iruka's head. His mind is like a collage of neon lights, the four letters leering around in his skull like some sort of curse. The silence gives him time to think, time to remember the last time he ever did anything like this. 

Instantly, the panic begins to claw at his throat; his back burns with raw pain anew and Iruka feels the strongest urge to _run_ and never look back. 

_This isn't a date,_ he has to remind himself. _This isn't anything at all. All of this means nothing._

It would work a lot better if Iruka didn't get butterflies every time he caught a whisper of Kakashi in his peripheral vision, but the mantra grounds him enough that he doesn't jutsu his way out of here. It gets pretty close though. He grips his chopsticks so tight he's worried they'll break.

"Huh, even in writing he calls him pervy-sage…" Kakashi murmurs, almost to himself. Unsure of whether he was looking for a response or not, Iruka chooses to shovel in yet another mouthful of noodles. He doesn't appreciate the amused look Teuchi gives him. He's enjoying this disaster far too much. 

The next few seconds are silent. Again. _God_ , Iruka wants this evening to end. He wants to go home and sit in his lonely apartment and never think about tonight ever again. The only thing keeping him going is the thought that tomorrow is Friday, which means he can eventually drink himself into oblivion. Forget that this ever happened. 

Kakashi can read faster than this. There's no way he's not read the letter through and through multiple times. 

_Pot call kettle,_ Iruka chastises himself. He's already re-read this letter about a million times and the first one even more. Kakashi is Naruto's teacher too, he probably misses the kid just as much as Iruka does. 

"Thanks," Kakashi eventually says, pushing the letter back over the counter. Iruka takes it, but as he reaches for the paper, his fingers ever so gently catch Kakashi's own. Most of his skin is covered by the jonin-standard gloves, but just the very tips of his fingers poke out. His hands are cold as Iruka brushes on by, such a contrast to Iruka's naturally warm ones. Pale, too. Stark white against the navy of his gloves, milky against the natural tan of Iruka's own.

A jolt runs through him, something warm and fuzzy and _sharp._ Iruka can feel the flush of his cheeks; he prays fervently that it's too dark to tell. The heat makes him feel a little sick, a little dizzy. It would almost be pleasant if Iruka's back didn't hurt like a bitch and his mind didn't scream at him to _get the fuck out of here._

If Kakashi notices anything he doesn't say it, but his gaze skitters away from Iruka's and he busies himself with his chopsticks, poking around at his food without actually eating anything. Preparing himself for another painful silence, Iruka quickly tries to calculate how long he can spend eating what's left of his meal without looking too strange. To his surprise, Kakashi leans back with what appears to be a wry smile painted on his masked lips.

"Why has Naruto decided to psycho-analyse my social life?" Iruka chokes back a laugh, relaxing as some of the tension that had plagued the evening fades. It's not much of a conversation starter, but it's _something._ He can work with this.

"He did the same thing to me, in his first letter. It's why I haven't shown it to anyone." He makes sure to keep his tone light, jovial, and he feels strangely rewarded when Kakashi lets out a repressed sort of chuckle.

"He called me a weirdo. And a pervert." Maybe it's just the lighting but _is that a pout under Kakashi's mask?_

"And you aren't those things?" Is Iruka's quick reply, words leaving his mouth before he can think about it. His words hold no bite, merely said in jest, but he and Kakashi are barely acquaintances - let alone something more. Iruka should be more careful, more cautious with what he says. Before he can open his mouth to apologise, however, a noncommittal hand rises. With definite amusement twinkling in his eye, Kakashi waves him down.

"Maa, sensei, you wound me." False dramatics heightened with a quick fluttering of eyelashes leaves Iruka laughing just a tad too hard, anything to ignore the fluttering butterflies in his stomach and the ache of his back. Obviously pleased with himself, Kakashi leans down conspiratorially, hands wandering closer and closer into Iruka's personal space. 

Somehow, the conversation flows from there. 

Once Iruka finishes his food - surprised to find that the last few bites are lukewarm, he hadn't realised how much time had passed - Kakashi lets out a strangled sort of cough. 

He hasn't eaten a single bite. His bowl is completely full, barely even touched. 

In abject horror, Iruka watches the next few seconds evolve in almost terrifying clarity. With lightning speed, Kakashi unhooks his mask with one finger. All he gets to see is the line of a smooth, pale nose before it's covered by the bowl. 

Seven seconds, Iruka counts. It takes Kakashi seven seconds to eat an entire bowl of ramen.

He doesn't know whether to be horrified or impressed. Even Naruto, who could eat Iruka out of house and home, couldn't dream of achieving that sort of speed. _Is that how he eats every meal? He must be riddled with indigestion._

After his mask has been returned to its proper position - not before Iruka gets a glimpse of bright red cheeks - Kakashi dithers in a bizarre brand of sheepishness. Hand scrubbing the back of his head, (in what Iruka has determined is a nervous sort of gesture) he offers another eye-crinkling smile.

"Would you like to do this again sometime?" Voice confident at first, it begins to falter. "I mean, Naruto will probably send more letters and - if it's okay with you, of course - it'd be nice to get to read them… over dinner, or something. Whatever you're comfortable with…" trailing off at the end, Iruka tries to mask his smile. He can't fight the urge to tease the other and the words leave his mouth as if of his own volition.

"Are you asking me on a date?" With just enough of a smirk, it can be passed off as a joke. Iruka tries to not think about how it doesn't really feel like one. Kakashi will say _no,_ will laugh at him and dispel any illusions of romance that Iruka might be plaguing his own mind with. Then Iruka can stop worrying about something which isn't there and he can go back to pretending that he doesn't get all flushy and nervous every time he's around the jonin and he can relax knowing that there's a zero percent chance that this will ever go anywhere. Which is good. Because Iruka doesn't date. Not anymore.

"Maa, don't joke about such things, sensei. I know you don't like me very much." Well. That's not quite the answer Iruka was hoping for, for a multitude of reasons.

"I- that's not true-" Disbelief writes itself plainly on the arc of Kakashi's brow. "I mean, okay, I haven't been your biggest fan-" a wry snort interrupts him, but Iruka doesn't miss the flicker of shadow flickering across his face. "but I had fun tonight," his voice softens. "More fun than I thought I would." 

Hopefully, Kakashi believes him. A part of him doesn't know why he says that, doesn't know why he's actively _trying_ to get closer to Kakashi. Iruka has had the same group of friends for _years,_ he always spends time with the same circles and he always avoids making those circles bigger. 

Iruka might be friendly with most of the village, but his _friends_ are a tight-knit circle that he doesn't really want to enlarge. 

Until now, of course. 

Until Iruka's feeling a little lonely, a little out of sorts with Naruto gone, and suddenly all he can think about is _Kakashi_. 

There's a short pause, one heavy and swollen that hangs like the moon in the night sky.

"...would you want it to be a date, sensei?"

The answer rests on the tip of his tongue, _yes,_ a part of Iruka begs to say. It would be so easy, too. So simple, just one word, one syllable, and yet… Grey hair, grey eyes. Kakashi sits beside him but for the briefest of moments, Iruka sees somebody else. His back twinges.

"How about we become friends first, Kakashi-san?"

There's the briefest flicker of something like disappointment in Kakashi's eye before he blinks twice in succession, steeling his shoulders and straightening his spine. Observing Iruka with an expression that can only be described as strangely fond, his body sags on one long exhale.

"I would like that." The frankness in his words has Iruka fighting down yet another blush. 

Kakashi's voice is barely a whisper, something fragile and hopeful, and there's a part of Iruka who wonders if the jonin has ever done anything like this before. It doesn't take a genius to figure out a child prodigy - although revered and admired - loses out on the normalcy of life. 

Or maybe he's just reading into things too much again.

Kakashi takes off with a wave, casual at a first glance but his fingers twitch with a nervous sort of electricity. Iruka watches him go and tries to ignore the way his stomach clenches.

Amidst the rising night, from beneath the kiss of starlight and shadow, a thought swirls round in hurricane fury.

_You're fucked,_ it says, and Iruka wholeheartedly agrees.

x

"He's got a thing for you. Definitely. He's had one for _ages._ " Asuma says between a swig of beer, cigarette held lax between two fingers. One singular brow raises in a look of subtle disappointment - as though he's displeased that Iruka didn't notice it sooner. 

It's a Friday night and Iruka had eventually allowed himself to be dragged to a night out. Already, he's beginning to regret it. A haze of alcohol has pleasantly blurred his senses - enough that the stress of the past few weeks has begun to melt away - but there isn't enough booze in the world to make Iruka drunk enough to have this conversation. Is it too early for him to make up some bullshit excuse? Unfinished marking? An early shift tomorrow? 

"I'm surprised it's taken you this long to notice, he's not very subtle about it." Genma adds, teeth flashing with a smile as he swirls his senbon around with his tongue. Iruka hopes he fucking chokes on it.

The entire table nods along emphatically, looking at Iruka with wicked, canine-like grins. He feels a bit like a piece of meat hanging in front of a bunch of ravenous wolves. 

Really, he should have known better. Ever since… _well_ , ever since Iruka's last relationship ended, his friends have been all too interested in meddling with his love life. If Iruka were a more generous man, he might have said it was a sweet gesture, (they were, after all, trying to look out for him) but he knows all too well how their meddling ends. Turns out when your friends are a bunch of threatening-looking jonin, the people you tend to attract either get scared off pretty quick or are bat-shit insane. 

"If you bring this up one more time, I'm leaving." Going out tonight was a mistake. He has booze at home; he should have just drunk away the stress of the week at his own apartment. Alone. With no nosey jonin who think they're geniuses of romance trying to set him up with anyone who breathes and has the ability to consent.

"Did you not think all those mission reports were a bit too bad? Like, he obviously did it to get a rise out of you." continues Genma, completely ignoring what Iruka just said. He's got that punchable expression on his face, the one that makes Iruka's fingers twitch; all smug and self-satisfied. Slinging an arm around Raidou - who's drunk a little bit too much and beginning to doze off - he makes a series of god-awful kissy faces that has Iruka considering becoming a missing-nin. 

_A little bit of murder wouldn't hurt, right? Or at least some moderate maiming._

"...and why would he do that?" Instantly, he's aware that this is the wrong thing to ask. In a terrifying show of synchronisation, five pairs of eyes begin to sparkle. Even Raidou, who's head had been sliding closer and closer to the table, perks up with a grin.

"Well, you hear things about schoolboys and their crushes…" Placid and calm as always, Kurenai interjects. A master of gossip and the Supreme Meddler, her tone remains casual but her lips upturn with a smirk. She's leaning dangerously close to Asuma, the two of them drunk enough that they've forgotten they're supposed to be very much not dating in what might be the worst kept secret of Konoha.

Iruka can't believe _these_ are the people who are trying to give him dating advice. 

"Yeah, exactly!" Genma looks excited now, like a cat who's got the cream. Iruka wants to ram his senbon right down his throat. 

"He's a fully grown adult, though. He can't-" it's said in futile, the argument is already lost. Five jonin turn on him with their wicked, wicked eyes and Iruka wishes he could go back in time and pick different friends. 

At least Kotetsu and Izumo aren't here; that's the only saving grace of this evening. But, Iruka remembers miserably, he has a shift with them tomorrow. (Again, how bad would going rogue really be?)

"Oh, he _can_ , Iruka." Anko's joining in now, hands spread flat on the table as she anchors herself over; leaning close enough into Iruka's personal space that he can smell stale cigarettes on her breath. Conspiratorially, she lowers her voice to a mock-whisper, although she's pretty drunk so it's more akin to a quiet shout. "Besides, he's Kakashi. Even by jonin standards, he's pretty fucking weird."

Everybody nods in agreement, some looking more excited than others. Raidou's already beginning to doze off again and Genma's doing a bad job of pretending he isn't completely smitten by the little bit of drool leaking out of his mouth. 

Asuma, though, is where the true fear lies. His face is twisted in a contemplative sort of stare, one that is only worn during what everyone refers to as his 'big brother mode' - which is something Iruka has come to fear as it's usually directed straight into his love life. This expression signifies the battle is already lost. Depending on his following words, Asuma has either already envisioned Kakashi's head on a spike or he'll be sending Iruka pamphlets on suitable venues for a wedding in a week.

"I know Kakashi," he starts, slowly, drawing out each word just to torture Iruka even more.

"...stop it, Asuma," he tries to warn, but to no avail. 

"He's good. Reliable. You should go for it, you've had a thing for him for _years-_ "

Iruka splutters at that part, cutting Asuma off with a furious flurry of his hands. "What? No I haven't?" It comes out as more of a question than he would have liked. 

Simultaneously, everybody turns to him with the same unconvinced expression.

With a crook of her finger, Kurenai draws his attention. With her red eyes and dark-painted lips, the dingy lighting of the bar suddenly makes her look sinister. Quiet, introverted but observant - Kurenai is the queen of cutting remarks and quick-wit. She's a good match for Asuma, he thinks. Not a good match for Iruka's dignity, though.

"You two really have got the schoolboy cliches down to a fine art,"

Genma crows loudly, startling Raidou awake. Asuma looks smug and Kurenai looks downright terrifying. The table turns into a series of jibes and jokes - a little too close to the truth for Iruka's liking. Suddenly, the so-called 'dislike' he has claimed to harbour towards Kakashi has become very reminiscent of the pre-genin crushes Iruka deals with on a daily basis. Is that what it's always been? Has Iruka been in denial for all these years? Covering up a ridiculous crush with a pretence of discontent? 

_Fuck,_ he shouldn't think about this too hard. Nothing good will come of it.

They only laugh harder as Iruka rises in a hurry, making a series of bullshit excuses that everybody pretends to believe with feral-sharp smirks. (Well, everybody apart from Raidou, who looks like he's going to start snoring any minute now) The alcohol hits him in a rush, spinning the room as he stumbles out of the booth. Yellow-stained lights flash across Iruka's eyes, pounding in his head as everything grows worryingly warm. Or maybe that's just himself? He's not sure, it's all a bit… muddled.

"I give it a month," Iruka hears Genma from over the general hubbub of the bar. 

"Nah, Kakashi's pretty obtuse. Give it two," follows Anko, the sounds of coins clinking against wood almost deafening. Fuck, they're already making bets.

Asuma calls after him, something like worry buried beneath the joking tone. He probably knows what Iruka is thinking - underneath it all. He's not very sensitive, nor very observant when it comes to the subtle art of emotions, but he'd been the one to pick up the pieces after Mizuki. The one who'd taken Iruka home and brought him cooked meals and groceries. The one who'd looked at Iruka with something like pity when he saw the boxes of Mizuki's belongings - the ones Iruka couldn't quite manage to let go of. 

Naruto had been there too, of course, but he was still just a kid. There's only so much a child can do and Asuma had filled in all those empty spaces.

That doesn't change the fact that he's trying to meddle around with things. Just because he's so goddamn happy with Kurenai, that doesn't mean Iruka wants the same sort of thing. Logically, he _knows_ everybody is trying to look out for him; but he wishes they'd let some things go. He _knows_ he needs to move on, needs to let go of the past, but it's not that easy. He's been trying, trying so goddamn hard, and no matter how well-meaning this all is, sometimes it really makes things worse.

_God_ , Iruka needs to get out of here. He needs to escape from here and never return, he needs to go to sleep and pray that he (and everybody else) forgets this evening until the end of time. 

A bit dramatic, perhaps, but Iruka doesn't want this. He doesn't want… _love,_ not like this, not after- lost amidst the hurricane of his thoughts, he's too flustered to notice a stranger stepping out of the shadows. Colliding into them with enough force to send him reeling, Iruka lets out a peal of slightly slurred apologies, blinking up at the poor sod he's just rammed himself into.

He freezes.

"Steady there, sensei," a familiar voice drawls.

This cannot be happening. Iruka flushes to the roots of his hair. If asked, he'll blame it on the alcohol. Or the lighting. Or a cleverly placed genjutsu. Something, _anything_. 

Stature aloof, Kakakshi observes him in silence, but the grey of his visible eye is piercing as always and Iruka feels that familiar vulnerability welling up within him.

He'd once prided himself on being calm and collected. Turns out that was a fucking lie, if there's one thing Naruto's absence has revealed to Iruka; it's that he's a little bit of a _complete disaster._ God, he needs to get his life together. Things had always seemed so easy, before. When everything was simple and uncomplicated, when there was no _underneath the underneath_ and Iruka had thought he'd finally figured everything out.

(Of course, he reminds himself as his back twinges with that phantom pain, he'd never had anything figured out at all)

"I apologise, Kakashi-san, I was in such a hurry I- I was distracted and then I didn't see you and then-"

His ramblings are interrupted with a warm hand on his shoulder. Kakashi smiles, tilts his head and Iruka can't excuse the way his heart suddenly leaps in his chest. Familiar tendrils of anger curl in his gut, a sort of anger that has no rhyme or reason, an anger with no motive. It distracts him from the panic, though, the fear of the past that never seems to let go.

_Fuck_. Why do his friends always have to be right?

Like a fish out of water, Iruka's mouth opens and closes uselessly. Kakashi's hand is still on his shoulder and the pressure _burns._ He can feel the imprint of Kakashi's hand, feel each individual finger as if they've engraved themself into his skin. Even through the material of his shirt, the touch is hot and wild like fire. At all costs, he avoids meeting Kakashi's gaze. Already, the sight of the other in his peripheral vision has him feeling all hot and bothered. 

How does one eye look so goddamn attractive? That's literally all he is. One eye, a little bit of cheek and gravity-defying hair. He has no right to be so attractive. No right at all.

That's definitely Genma laughing, there in the back. If Iruka listens really closely, he's almost certain he can hear the cogs in Asuma's brain whirring - no doubt he's already planned three separate weddings and seven versions of the 'I'm his elder brother' talk. 

_Fucking hell._ Iruka wonders where all the sane ninja are - or if they even exist at all. 

"I was just leaving," eventually, he manages to spit it out. "So if you don't mind…" Kakashi withdraws as if he's been burned, singular eye blown wide. There's definitely pink staining his cheeks - a colour that (this time) Iruka can't excuse as shitty lighting. He looks nervous too, doing the same weird-shifty-thing he was doing back in the mission room. And then, all at once, he seems to grab ahold of himself. Straightening his spine, relaxing his shoulders, his harried face smooths out into a flat sort of confidence. 

"What a coincidence, sensei, I was just about to leave too." Iruka stares at the full pint glass in Kakashi's hand. Following his gaze, the jonin cringes and then in a motion so emotionally scarring that any poor, fortuneless witnesses are left with nightmares for years to come, Kakashi drains the entire glass in three seconds flat. 

All without removing his mask. 

Already nauseous from the whole room-spinning thing, Iruka finds himself biting back the urge to vomit. That's disgusting. He's been wearing that mask all day, probably. Maybe even longer and, unless he's changing them every few hours, Iruka can only imagine all the gross shit that piece of fabric soaks up. And now it's all soggy, plastered to his face and neck, oozing with the remnants of whatever had been in that glass. It's _vile,_ and it's dripping onto the floor.

Kakashi frowns. One silver eyebrow creasing a fold into his brow. Shifting on his feet, clenching his fists twice in succession, Iruka's seen such a gesture many times. He teaches children, after all. Over the years, he's seen more than enough awkward first crushes to pick up on some of the signs. 

Maybe he's drunker than he thought. _God_ , he needs to get home. 

"I could walk you back - if that's okay with you, of course."

Feeling like his mouth has been stuffed full of cotton wool, Iruka nods dumbly. 

_Why did he say yes?_ He's already trying to re-evaluate his… _feelings,_ or whatever, towards the jonin. He should be trying to stay away, trying to figure out all of this from afar. Now he's just said yes to being _walked home._

It really isn't a big deal. Not at all, but it _feels_ like one. Whether that's because Iruka's always had a tendency to be an _all or nothing_ kind of person, or because it's _Kakashi_ , who could literally kill in a second flat, he doesn't know. Maybe it's both, maybe it's neither. (If this is how Kurenai and Asuma feel around each other, Iruka kind of regrets making fun of them) Or maybe teaching pre-genin for a living has made Iruka regress. Slowly, throughout the years, children have rotted away ideas of 'adult' romance and left Iruka with this weird, butterfly-filled mushy sort of _bleurgh_ in its stead.

But when Kakashi physically _lights up_ at his answer, all thoughts fly out the window. 

He shouldn't feel like this. Not with Kakashi, not with somebody just like _him._ Grey hair, grey eyes, both cold and distant yet sometimes so _warm_ Iruka can convince himself there's something there. 

Maybe he's got a type. 

And yet, despite the warnings that blare in his head, he just can't seem to help himself. Like a moth to an open flame, Iruka seems to be drawn to things that _burn._

With an arm held out, Kakashi gestures for Iruka to walk astride him. The bar is a little too crowded for the two of them to fit comfortably and Iruka finds himself being pushed and jostled into a very warm body that most certainly isn't his own. 

"Sorry," he mumbles looking down at his feet. The two of them do the ever-awkward shuffle dance, wherein each of them tries and completely fails to let the other pass first. It's a painful experience, one that has Iruka wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole, but the universe isn't satisfied just yet.

A booming voice rings out, one that seems to shake the foundations of the building with its sheer power. 

"Rival! I have found you!" 

Might Gai, in all his green, spandex-clan glory, steps out into the bar's fray. The crowds part, disappear into the background as Konoha's Green Beast himself literally _sparkles_ his way over to Kakashi. 

"Ah, Iruka-sensei! It's good to see you, I hope you're well!" Temporarily blinded by the gleaming flash of a Nice Guy Smile, (Gai should make a career as a scarecrow - a smile as bright as that is sure to scare off any birds) Iruka flounders for an answer. 

He likes Gai, the man writes _gorgeous_ reports (on especially difficult days, those manning the mission desks have been known to cry a few tears at their sheer perfection) and he's always pleasant and polite to all those who cross his path. He's also a superb teacher. Kind, patient, with an incredible passion for his students to succeed. He helps out at the academy too, whenever he has the time; giving taijutsu demonstrations and the like. Iruka (for the most part) greatly enjoys his company, even with all the flair and dramatics, he's intelligent and well-spoken and one of the few jonin who doesn't look down on the lower ranks.

That being said, he's also _Gai._ It's… a lot. A lot of a lot. A lot of something that Iruka really doesn't have the ability to deal with right now. Not that Gai seems to notice - or care, he doesn't really seem perturbed by Iruka's lack of a real answer. Instead, he just smiles again (this one somehow even more blinding than the last) and turns his attention to a suddenly very bored-looking Kakashi. A one-dimensional sort of bored, artificially flat and rigid - more like plastic than a real expression.

"Gai," he says, a little bit of an edge in his voice. "I was just leaving with _Iruka-sensei._ " His tone shifts as he says Iruka's name - an over-pronounced lilt to his voice as if conveying some hidden message that Gai is supposed to understand. 

"Leave? But you just got here-" Kakashi gives a pointed look and Gai quietens. His eyes flicker from Kakashi to Iruka and then back to Kakashi again, his eyebrows wriggling like two great big hairy caterpillars. "Ah, of course." There's something gleaming in his eyes that Iruka doesn't trust. 

Then, with his arms spread wide in a gesture that can only mean a long, prose-y motivational speech is about to begin, Gai's voice booms loud and clear across the pub. As soon as he opens his mouth, Kakashi forcibly grabs Iruka by the arm and _drags_ him outside. 

Too gobsmacked by Gai's rendition of the beauty of love and youth and the 'blossoming of eternal feelings like the first spring daffodil' - whatever the fuck _that_ means - Iruka lets himself be man-handled outside with little to no complaint.

As the cool night air sweeps against Iruka's flustered cheeks, catching on the wayward strands of his messy ponytail, he begins to regain some of his bearings. Namely, the figure of one very sheepish looking Hatake Kakashi. 

"What, in all the ever-loving _fuck_ was that?" There's still enough alcohol in his system for Iruka to think swearing and jabbing one very angry finger at what might be the most dangerous man in Konoha is a good idea. 

"Language, sensei." The artificial flatness to Kakashi's face is back - that ram-rod line of his spine even as he slouches; everything about the man is made to appear so casual but Iruka can see the flicker of something else just below the surface.

"You're an adult, I'm sure you can handle a little swearing. Unless you want me to treat you like one of my students?" 

Hands raised in a show of peace, Kakashi droops his head down. "Sorry, sensei. I just didn't expect you to-"

"Expect me to _what?_ " Iruka raises an eyebrow and Kakashi definitely shrinks back, just a little. "There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Kakashi-san. It'd do you some good to not _assume_ anything about what I should or should not do."

It's only after his chest has puffed up like a bullfinch and he's shook his finger at Kakashi several times that he realises he's gone 'teacher-mode' (as his friends refer to it) on the goddamn fucking _copy-nin._ Good grief. It's not unusual considering Kakashi's history of awful mission reports, but here, _right now?_ They're in a casual setting. Iruka is off the clock, there is no work and no responsibilities to uphold. 

One of these days, Iruka is going to be like this to the wrong person. Some arrogant arsehole jonin is going to snap his neck in two. _Whatever_. It's kind of worth it, just to see the surprise on their faces.

And Kakashi _is_ surprised, satisfyingly so. That one eye is blown wide, pupils dilated and mouth half-open in shock. 

"I'd like to get to know you, sensei. If that's okay with you, then I won't have to make assumptions again."

Iruka's taken aback by the genuineness in Kakashi's voice.

"Why?" Is all he can think to ask. _Why_ to it all. Why is Kakashi so interested in him? Why do his friends think they're a romance cliche come to life? But most of all, why can't Iruka stay away. What is it about Kakashi that makes him so… fucking stupid? _Why_ does all his emotional maturity go out the window whenever the other is around? So, yeah, _why?_ It doesn't really cover all the bases, but what else can Iruka say?

"Because you're you." Is all Kakashi says, and that's that.

_Fuck._ What does that mean? What do you even say to that?

No more words are spoken as they walk home. Iruka keeps waiting for Kakashi to turn away - he's certain they don't live in the same parts of the village - but he never does. It's late enough at night that the sky almost seems bright again - no longer an inky black but instead a grey-silt blue. The stars are beginning to fade, the moon no longer quite as luminous. _The Witching Hour,_ Iruka's mother had called it - a time where the world stops turning and everything comes to a standstill.

It certainly feels like it is just him and Kakashi. As if they are at the very end of time, in a space where there is nothing but them. No worries, no doubts, no past and no future. Just _them._

Iruka's never felt like this with anybody. Maybe he's just drunker than he thought.

But all too soon, it comes to an end. Iruka's cheap apartment complex appears on the horizon, a big, dull slate-grey building that looks like it's seen better days. It's nothing special, nothing fancy, but it's the first place Iruka bought with his own money. The first place where he ever became fully self-sufficient. So even if it is a little bit of a shithole, he's never had the heart to move out of it. 

Kakashi is still by his side as they reach the entrance doors, and it's then that Iruka realises that Kakashi has _literally_ walked him home. Of course, remembering back, that is exactly what the man had offered to do, but Iruka had assumed it was more of a… 'I'm leaving, you're leaving, let's just leave together' kind of deal. 

Maybe _he_ should stop assuming things about _Kakashi_. 

For a few slightly awkward moments, the two stand outside of the apartment complex; neither willing to make the first move of goodbye. Eventually, it is Iruka who breaks the silence first.

"Thank you, Kakashi-san." He bows ever so slightly, just the barest incline of his head. Kakashi cracks a smile.

"Maa, Iruka-sensei, why so formal?" Iruka flushes. "You can call me Kakashi. _Just_ Kakashi."

"Oh. Well, thank you. _Kakashi._ " Studiously ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, Iruka doesn't miss the way the jonin's eye begins to sparkle. Even in the low-light gloom, there's a definite gleam that wasn't there before. 

"Of course, sensei. It was no problem."

Before Kakashi can step away, Iruka clears his throat. 

"Iruka."

"Huh?" 

"If you want me to be less formal, surely you should lead by example."

Even with the mask on, Kakashi's answering smile seems blinding.

"Goodnight then, Iruka." A shiver runs down Iruka's spine.

"Goodnight, Kakashi."

"Sweet dreams," and in a poof of smoke, Kakashi vanishes.

His heart feels light, his mind still pleasantly buzzed from the drinks he had earlier. As he makes his way up to his apartment, the doubts and fears from earlier begin to melt away. Maybe Naruto was right, maybe Iruka does need some change in his life. Maybe Kakashi isn't so bad after all.

_Who's he kidding,_ he berates himself as he unlocks his door, quickly dismantling his wards before slipping inside. If he's being honest with himself, he's had a thing for Kakashi for _years._ Even if the man was insufferable and annoying and a bit of a prick; he's been interrupting Iruka's thoughts for far too long for it to be anything but.

Briefly, as he flicks the lights on, he wonders _why_ he was so opposed to it all. Why he's been so adamant that he dislikes the man, why he was so certain that Kakashi was nothing but a nuisance in his day.

As his lightbulb comes to live, flickering in dull yellow light, (he'll need to replace it soon) Iruka's eyes catch on his cabinet. The picture of Team Seven stares up at him. With a fond sigh, he picks it up. It feels like only yesterday that they were his students, that-

He freezes. 

There's a shelf on his memory cabinet that he doesn't like to look at. One that he hasn't the heart to get rid of and instead lets it fester like an infected wound. With shaking fingers, Iruka drops the photo of Team Seven. The glass shatters, Naruto's face disappears under spiderweb-cracks, but Iruka doesn't even notice.

On _that_ shelf, a framed photo rests face down. Iruka picks it up, bites his lips until he tastes blood.

The image is of him as a teenager. Gangly, arms and legs too long. His hair is a little greasy and his trousers are too short, but his smile is split wide - a smile that says _I could never be happier than this._ In the photo, he has one arm slung around _his_ shoulders.

Mizuki stares back at Iruka, smile that razor-sharp grin and eyes pinpricked and harsh. Mizuki had always been rough edges, full of broken promises and cruel words; but every so often (only around Iruka) he would soften like ripe fruit and laugh like the tinkling of bells. Like a porcupine, sharp and prickly on the outside; but sweet where it counted. 

Or so Iruka had thought.

His back aches with an age-old pain - a pain that had left Iruka temporarily paralysed from the waist down, that had almost ruined his career as a shinobi. A pain that lasts in an ugly scar that stains Iruka's skin as forever _ruined._ He can feel the phantom touch of Mizuki, hands on his hips, his chest, his legs, his… 

He hurls the photo at the wall, feeling sick satisfaction as glass bursts from the frame. It catches the light, reflects it in a spectrum of colour. But as it lands, Mizuki's face leers at Iruka.

Grey hair, grey eyes. So similar yet so different.

As Iruka picks up the broken pieces of glass, too distracted to notice when it tears into his skin, all he can think of is _this is a mistake._ Whatever is happening with Kakashi, it needs to stop. 

Blood trickles down his fingers, drips onto the floor. 

He's not made for things like this. Mizuki made sure of that. He promised himself, too. Promised that he would not do this again. He is not in love with Kakashi, not at all, but when he closes his eyes, he can _imagine_ it. He can imagine a future where he could fall in love again. 

He shouldn't. He should stop now, before it's too late. It had been funny, before. A sort of distant disaster, one that could be willed away with over-dramatics and nonsensical thoughts. He told himself he hated Kakashi because it was easy. Because it was something to do, something to focus on. Something to think about that didn't make him feel _weak._

That night, as he tries to fall asleep, all he can think about is the way Kakashi's eye had lit up at Iruka, shone with something raw and honest and beautiful. 

_Why,_ he asks himself. 

_Why me?_

For the life of him, he cannot think of the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does ao3 add extra spaces every time i use italics? i swear I'm gonna go mad it took me like 30 minutes just to remove them all and i probably missed a few
> 
> rip the two essays I need to finish


	3. Letter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter are pretty short, actually, so I can probably get them both up today. I was less busy than I thought, huh.
> 
> Obligatory angst time because the last chapter involved so much character interaction and Wow I really struggle writing that.

_How's it going, Iruka-sensei!_

_I'm learning so many cool techniques with pervy-sage! Just you wait, when I get back I might be even stronger than you!_

_It's a lot of hard work (although nothing is too hard for me!) and I don't really understand a lot of what pervy-sage talks about, but I think I'm getting the hang of things. Soon I'll be strong enough to get Sasuke back! Believe it!_

_I was thinking, as well, because you're pretty old - or not REALLY old like pervy-sage or grandma-Tsunade, but you're a little bit old; maybe you should think about getting a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend! I know you had a thing with that bastard Mizuki, but you deserve a lot better than him._

_Pervy-sage says he thinks you and Kakashi-sensei would make a good couple, which is SO gross. Kakashi-sensei is old and a super-pervert and he even reads pervy-sage's creepy books. (which are super boring and really, really weird) You're much too good for Kakashi-sensei._

_I don't know. I hope I'm not being rude. I just think you deserve nice things, since you're so nice and all. And you spend all your time looking after everybody, it would be nice if there was somebody to look out for you too. Or at least until I get back._

_I miss you a lot. Say hello to everybody for me, yeah?_

_From Naruto._

  
  


"Oh." Is all Kakashi says after he finishes reading Naruto's latest letter. _Oh, indeed_. It's exactly the same reaction Iruka had had only a few hours before; although he'd been a lot more teary-eyed in the privacy of his apartment. 

If he'd gone and stood in the doorway of Naruto's bedroom - now beginning to collect a fine sheen of dust - and simply stared at the emptiness left, then that was nobody's business but his own. 

Admittedly, it's a little embarrassing to give this particular letter to Kakashi. Even though all the other letters have been none too subtle in referencing Iruka's apparently crippling loneliness, this one has somehow managed to outdo the rest in just sheer well-meaning _worry_ \- even if Naruto is still a little bit too honest. Seriously, would it kill Jiraiya to teach that boy a little bit of tact?

"Yeah." Is all Iruka can think to say. He really doesn't want to talk about the contents of this letter too deeply - honestly, he'd debated showing Kakashi at all. 

Sure, he and Kakashi are closer than they once were. Despite his misgivings and worries, (which only seem to be getting worse as things continue) Iruka finds that he can't quite stay away. The time between this letter and the last had been a good few months but he and Kakashi have spent plenty of time together since then.

After that night in the bar, the one where they had walked home together, Iruka had decided that enough was enough. That, despite all the strange glances and warm butterflies, things would go no further than they already had. He's an adult, he's mature and responsible, he knows what's best for him and he knows when to stop. But then Kakashi had shown up at the mission desk the next day and asked when Iruka was free and things had just spiralled from there. 

Iruka is a weak, weak man - or so he's come to realise. 

Even when he'd meant to say _no,_ intended to make some piss poor excuse to distance himself from Kakashi and salvage a measure of his own pride, he'd found his resolve crumbling to dust every single time they spoke to one another. 

Iruka feels everything strongly, _deeply._ His emotions rule him, they always have, and it's why he knew he'd never make it as an active shinobi. He cares too much, he lets himself be led by his heart as opposed to his mind. It's a strength in the classroom as much as it is a weakness in the field, one that he'd always thought would hinder him but, in recent years, he's come to accept it as perhaps his greatest strength. 

Now, however, such emotions are hindering him once more. Without realising, he's become _attached_ to Kakashi in the strangest of ways. Infatuated, perhaps - but not with the flames of something quick and sudden and fleeting, instead it's something soft and mellow and _warm._ Something he wants to grab a hold of, never let go.

Such things are dangerous and Iruka needs to get away before it's too late. Nothing good can come of it. Iruka isn't made for things like this, he isn't made for things that _last_ , Mizuki was living proof of that. And, in the wake of Mizuki's destruction, the damage had been done and Iruka can't go back. 

But when push comes to shove and the opportunity arises, he can never quite manage it.

So they're here again, Naruto's letter seated between them like a little spot of sunlight. 

There's a lot Kakashi could mention about this particular letter. The whole _Jiraiya, legendary sannin, apparently thinks we would make a good couple_ thing is one. But the thing Iruka _really_ doesn't want to get brought up are the parts mentioning Mizuki. He'd debated scribbling them out, modifying the letter in some way that he could show Kakashi without feeling weak and pathetic. Instantly, he'd ruled it out. Kakashi would know, _instantly,_ and Iruka thinks that would be worse. It would show he has something to hide, show there's something deep and shameful and _weak_ about how he handled things with Mizuki. About how he wasn't strong enough, how he didn't _see_ what was right in front of him and how that trust almost killed him.

It was _years_ ago now, it shouldn't still affect him as it does but… well, it does. The past clings to Iruka like a second skin and he's never learned quite how to shed it.

"I can't believe Naruto would disrespect Jiraiya's writing like that. Was he really ever my student?" 

The tension melts away almost instantly, Iruka allowing himself to relax as he lets out a laugh. Kakashi is definitely curious about something, his eyes flicker continuously towards the letter and it's obvious he wants to ask about it. He won't though - not now. Out of respect to Iruka, perhaps. Or the respect for all shinobi, the mutual understanding that there are some things about their lives that remain private, that are strictly off-limits. They've built their lives off of discretion, after all. All shinobi are different but, eventually, they all become masters of secret-keeping.

Either way, the joke gives Iruka an opening - a power to direct the conversation to whatever he feels comfortable with. The gesture is subtle but it is not missed. 

"It's because he's got taste," he responds quickly, jabbing a well-placed elbow into Kakashi's side as he tries to pretend everything isn't a tad too familiar. 

" _Bad_ taste," Kakashi bemoans, raising a fist to the sky. He shakes it, expression tragic as he deflates in his seat, eye twinkling as Iruka lets out another peal of laughter. 

There's still so much they don't know about each other. So much that, against his better judgement, Iruka wants to find out.

With a shake of his head, dispelling the longing thoughts that are desperate to rise, Iruka reprimands himself. _Keep things casual._ _Don't get carried away - not like you always do._

Why does he keep doing it, though? Plunging himself into the deep end? Thinking about things that he really shouldn't. There's nothing here. They're friends, and that's it. No more, no less. _Friends._

(The more he says it, the more it sounds like a lie) 

"Are you alright?" Kakashi breaks the tumultuous sea of his thoughts. Iruka curses. Without realising, his laughter had faded into a quiet that lasted too long; his face no doubt reflecting his souring mood. It's a saying amongst civilians that the eyes are a window to the soul and, with Iruka, that's only all too apparent. His growing anxiety must be obvious, especially for somebody as observant as Kakashi. Even _Naruto_ , who is many things but never observant, had been able to read Iruka like an open book. 

He really regrets showing Kakashi _this_ letter. Naruto means well, and it's _nice_ to be able to share the news with somebody, but… _It would be nice if there was somebody to look out for you too._ The words read on repeat in Iruka's head, joined by Mizuki's leering smile. No matter what he does, he can't stop _thinking_ about it. Replaying it all over and over again.

With a nod and a smile plastered on his face, Iruka makes another joke. He's not quite sure what he's said, whether or not it was really funny, but Kakashi laughs and the concern is pushed aside. 

If Iruka catches the worried little glances Kakashi sends him here or there; well, he doesn't comment on it. He's thankful Kakashi doesn't press, but a twisted part of him wishes he would. Wishes Kakashi would do something, _anything,_ that would give him an excuse to leave. 

If people were to assume anything about the two of them; they would think that Kakashi was the one like… like _this._ Iruka's a teacher, he stays in the village and he rarely leaves for missions. He's supposed to be dependable, stable, always put together perfectly.

_Maybe that's the problem,_ he thinks. There was never an opportunity for him to grieve, for him to process what happened that night, understand the scars that Mizuki had left. After the Kyuubi attack, people's grief had encased Konoha in shadow. Iruka had been alone, but so had others. Even when he was out on the field, when bile rose to his throat with each neck he snapped and each life he snuffed out, that had been _expected._ Being unhinged was _the_ _norm,_ if anything, a shinobi who never feels remorse is far more terrifying than one who does. 

After Mizuki, after all the operations and the weeks spent in the hospital and the months of physiotherapy, that was it. He was Iruka again. Strong, dependable Iruka. A shoulder to lean on, somebody always willing to lend a hand. 

Except Mizuki's clothes had still been in his closet, his shoes by the door and his toothbrush beside his own, held in a mug that Mizuki bought. Now it's all in a box under Iruka's bed; all his little pieces a reminder on late nights when self-loathing makes Iruka its' home.

Kakashi had been the one to approach Iruka, after all. The one who had pushed with thousands of god-awful mission reports, the one who had teased and joked until Iruka turned blue in the face. Only in the past few months had things changed, had Kakashi reached out in a different way. A softer way, one that involved more subtle gestures and less efforts to give Iruka an aneurysm. Perhaps he had come to a decision of sorts, made an active choice to change his approach. Iruka had, stupidly, gotten caught up in it. Followed the glances and the smiles and the lingering touches until this point. 

Now? Now he's realising he's gotten caught in something he wasn't quite ready for. 

This has gone on long enough, he has to get out of this. He has to sort himself out. 

The evening continues and Iruka remains distant. He _tries_ to listen, tries to pay attention, but his thoughts skitter away from him. Like holding sand in his palms, his concentration slips through the cracks of his fingers. It's gritty, hard, gets caught in his eyes and all Iruka can think about is how fucking _stupid_ he's being. 

_You love too much,_ Mizuki's voice rings in his head. He doesn't know why _he's_ here, why _he_ always has to come back when it happened years ago. 

_You love and you love and you love and you give it all away._

His hands are shaking, his vision is swimming. Kakashi is saying something but Iruka doesn't even hear him. He laughs, a high, nervous sort of thing. Even to his own ears, it sounds brittle. Feels like it snaps in the air, turns to ash in his mouth. 

_It's easy, to break that. Oh so easy. You put it all in my hands, gave it to me willingly, and you'll never be able to take it back. It's mine, to do whatever I want with it._

It's true. Iruka has always been one to love freely; to give his affections as if he has infinite to spare. He loves his students, his colleagues, his friends. He loves Naruto. 

He still loves Mizuki. Even when he knows he shouldn't.

(He thinks, maybe, he could love Kakashi)

With a start, he stands. Vision swimming, head pounding, he stumbles on his feet. Like a newborn deer, he trips, digging his fingernails into his palms as if the pain will ground him into the present. It doesn't work. Instead, black spots cloud his vision and all Iruka can think of is _I have to get away._

He thinks of Kakashi, of what he knows about the man. A top jonin, a formidable ninja, somebody who has carved an art out of killing. He is a man who has been _damaged,_ who has been forced into a world that does nothing but destroy. Iruka has heard the rumours, the whispers of _friend-killer._ Perhaps, to Kakashi, Iruka had seemed like stability. Like peace and calm and something _safe._

Iruka can't be that, though. Not right now. Not in this way. 

For as much as he gives, as much as he lets others take, Iruka likes to keep to himself. It's why he's had the same group of friends for so many years, stayed in the same circles and never strayed too far into the unexpected.

Once, a long time ago, he'd craved nothing but chaos, craved for attention and eyes to follow him no matter where he went.

Ever since Mizuki, he feels like people have been staring too much. Looking, _seeing._ Finding things Iruka doesn't want them to find.

He's a ninja of Konoha. A chunin, nothing special. Average, every day. He's supposed to be _strong,_ supposed to be dependable. But after Mizuki, there had been the stares. The pity, the sympathy. 

The scorn.

_How didn't you realise? How didn't you know what he was doing? Your nearest, your dearest friend; a betrayer of the leaf, and you didn't know. You lived with him, you shared a bed, a house. He was your home, your life. How could you have missed it?_

So Iruka does the only thing he can think to do. His hands form the familiar signs and although he can see Kakashi talking, although he can see that _look_ on his face, he disappears in a swirl of leaves.

_Fuck_ , he breathes heavily as he collapses in his apartment. _Fuck,_ he stumbles to his futon, collapsing in a heap. He doesn't even bother to get changed, doesn't even bother to remove his hair-tie or brush his teeth or do _anything_ at all.

Instead, he closes his eyes, buries himself under the covers as if he can hide from the world. He pretends to sleep, pretends that when he closes his eyes he can't see Kakashi's concerned expression imprinted on the inside of his eyelids.

_Fuck_ , he feels awful.

x

He sleeps through his alarm the next day. Wakes up feeling groggy and disorientated, his mouth heavy as if stuffed full of socks and his back stiff and uncomfortable where his flak vest had dug into his skin all night. He feels like shit, he already knows he looks like shit, and he just wants to get this day out of the way and go home and wallow in his own pathetic misery. 

He's got six hours at the academy, no shift at the mission desk today. _Six hours._ Six hours of hyper pre-genin, six hours of well-meaning but nosey colleagues, six hours of trying to not think about what happened last night.

He wants to curl up in bed and sleep forever, but he's already running late. It'd cause more of a stir if he didn't show up at all and the last thing Iruka wants right now is attention.

Leaving the house only slightly rumpled, with his hair unbrushed and his trousers just a little creased, he looks a far sight from his usual pressed-perfect self. It's not bad enough that people will worry _,_ but it's bad enough that people might _ask_. Unfortunately, it's either this or be late and Iruka is _never_ late. Not like- _fuck._ He needs to stop thinking about him, needs to forget about the utter embarrassment of last night.

If there's one thing a ninja knows how to do, it is to endure. 

He's halfway to the academy, hands trying to flatten the uneven bumps of his ponytail, when he runs into Azami. Or, more accurately, she runs into him. 

"Iruka-sensei!" She begins, relief obvious in her voice. "I've been looking for you," before Iruka can get a word in edgeways (perhaps a little passive-aggressive comment about her neglecting her duties the other day) she bows, hands pressed together and hair falling in front of her eyes. God, he doesn't want to deal with her right now. All he wants to do is get to the academy and try not to break anything for the next six hours. Is that really too much to ask? Azami, still looking down at the floor, misses the displeasure frown twisting his face and instead presses on; voice artificially high in that familiar _please don't shout at me_ tone. One that Iruka is excessively used to, considering his village-wide reputation for chewing out anyone with the ears to listen.

"I'm _so_ sorry. I was told you took over my shift the other day, I didn't even realise I had one, a superior told me that it had been cancelled. I didn't even _think_ to check and I can't apologise enough for wasting your time-"

"Azami-san," Iruka interrupts, placating her rambling for a few seconds of silence. He fights the urge to rub at his temples - it's too early for this. "What are you talking about?"

"The other day, my shift-"

"No, not that." Iruka tries to keep a lid on his irritation - he's already running late, the last thing he needs is a bunch of wannabe ninjas setting traps whilst they wait. (which, knowing Konohamaru, is an inevitability waiting to happen) "Who told you your shift was cancelled?" Azami suddenly goes very still. "Was it somebody else who works at the mission desk?" She shakes her head, face looking a little pale. God give him patience, because he's running pretty fucking dry.

"Then who?"

Shifting on her feet, hands held behind her back, her eyes squint into a wince. 

"...I'm not supposed to tell you."

Fighting the urge to sigh, Iruka straightens his spine. Stern-teacher-mode engaged, Azami shrinks back just a little. 

"Who was it?" A part of Iruka thinks he already knows the answer and, if he's right, then he really doesn't want to know. He asks anyway, because maybe he'll be wrong. Maybe the world will decide that it can be kind, once in a blue moon.

Exhaling through her nose in a nervous huff of air, Azami looks at Iruka with a nervous glint in her eye. Underneath it, however, there is something a little sharp - a little _too_ knowing.

"Hatake Kakashi." She says, plain and simple.

Iruka represses the urge to scream.

x

The day continues at a snail's pace, each second feels like hours and each hour feels like _years._

There are small blessings, however. The bonus of having such a readable face is that when he entered his classroom that morning, shadows on his face lengthened with a storm of thunder, his students took the hint. _Don't make today any harder than it has to be,_ his expression had said and - for once - they had listened. Pranks had still been pulled and the usual pre-genin havoc had not ceased, but even when reprimanding his most rebellious students; he only had to tell them off once before they stopped completely. Even Konohamaru, the ever-notorious trouble maker, had been unusually tame all day.

Regardless of good behaviour, the day still drags on and on. If thinking of silver linings, however, Iruka supposes that he should be grateful that he doesn't have a shift at the missions desk today; the second that final bell rings Iruka can make his escape home and lie in his bed until he feels better. No arrogant jonin or undisciplined chunin to deal with. Not until tomorrow, anyway.

Children are observant, more observant than many would think. Iruka knows this because he spends all his time around them; he also knows that children think in the strangest of ways. At weapons practise, Moegi only attempts to maim Konohamaru once - a new record. During their written assignment, Hal (an Inuzuka girl who wouldn't know what patience was if it hit her in the face) only complains three times and during lunch Shin (a shy civilian kid who prefers to keep to himself) leaves a half-squashed toffee on Iruka's desk.

When the final bell rings, a few of his students stay behind. Before Iruka can think to ask them what's wrong, he finds himself with a bunch of little arms around his waist and a bunch of tiny faces pressed into his stomach.

Suddenly achingly fond, Iruka ruffles their hair and gives him his brightest smile; hoping it reaches his eyes. It's sometimes easy to forget just how young some of his students are and just how _innocent_ children can be. It reminds him that, even when things aren't going as he'd like, he's lucky. He's got a brilliant job, _amazing_ students who give him hope for the future,

Even though he feels like somebody threw a tonne of bricks into his skull, the gestures warm his heart. While some of his students may not grow up to be the strongest of ninja, they will be _good,_ they will be _kind._ That's all Iruka can hope for, really. Many see kindness as a weakness but, as conflict brews on the horizons, kindness could be the very thing that saves them all.

Despite that, at the days end he feels drained; as if he's come home from a month-long mission. Even his ponytail seems to be in agreement as it hangs as if limp at the nape of his neck. His entire body feels greasy, old. Like a pot-ramen left out too long; lukewarm and gross. Honestly, feeling like this, Iruka wouldn't be out of place in a bin. 

Of course, things in his life seem determined to stress him out as much as possible, because when he _eventually_ leaves the academy, there's a very familiar figure standing just outside the school gates. Silhouetted against the afternoon sun, blurred by the heat of summer-haze, there's no mistaking who it is.

"Iruka-" Kakashi begins, but Iruka's not in the mood. Not today. Of course, he knew this was coming. Logically, it makes perfect sense. Leaving as he did, no doubt looking pale and drawn and two seconds away from a breakdown, is sure to create some worry. It's sure to have the other party asking questions, wanting answers.

"Why are you here?" He asks, point-blank. The quicker this is over the better.

"I- because I was worried. I apologise if I did anything last night to offend you, I can-"

" _No._ " Frazzled, Iruka tries not to cry. He's just so… frustrated at himself. So _angry_ at nothing and it's pissing him off. He's tired and stressed and he doesn't even know _why_ he's acting like this, but every time he looks at Kakashi he just feels warm and soft and he _shouldn't._ God, he's an emotional disaster. He's going fucking insane and he doesn't even know _why._ The past is in the past, Mizuki was _years_ ago and he'd thought - just maybe - he was over it all. 

Well, surprise sur-fucking-prise, he's not.

"No," he repeats, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Why are you _here?_ Why are you… doing all of _this?_ " He gestures around him, scrubbing the raised edges of his scar with the palms of his hands. 

Kakashi looks completely and utterly lost. Iruka sighs, scrubbing his hands at his scalp, tendrils of hair slipping from his messy pony-tail.

"Why all the mission reports? And the… _not-dates_ and the touches and the stares and… just… why? Why _me?_ What could you possibly want from me? Is it for Naruto? For his letters? Or is it something else, because _everybody_ keeps telling me things and I really just don't understand." 

Aware that his voice is tilting a little towards the high and reedy side, Iruka bites into his lower lip. It hurts, stings a little as he tastes blood, but it does the job. He's fully aware that he's beginning to panic again, vision fading in and out of focus as he looks anywhere except Kakashi. He bites harder, letting the copper tang of blood ground him into the present.

"Because you're _you,_ " it's the same answer, one he has given before, and Iruka sort of wants to punch him. It's not even an answer, really. Not one that counts. _You're you._ At first, perhaps, it seems corny and sweet but when you stop to think, it doesn't mean shit. Iruka is fully aware that he is himself. In fact, that's the issue at hand. 

How can Kakashi be so certain of _who_ he is when Iruka himself doesn't have a clue?

In a voice that shakes just a little, Kakashi continues, "because you're not like anybody else, you're interesting and smart and funny. I _like_ you. A lot, if I'm being honest." And then, in a smaller voice, "Is that really so hard to believe?"

Iruka feels his throat close up.

It shouldn't be. It shouldn't be hard to believe that he is liked, _loved_ even. But it is. It feels like an insurmountable challenge, an impossibility in Iruka's plain and boring life. Mizuki had told Iruka he'd loved him, a long time ago. 

Mizuki had lied. 

"I'm sorry. I can't do _this,_ whatever it is. I'm sorry." The words pass in a blur, Iruka's stomach rolls and his vision goes black at the edges. "I think maybe I- God, I'm sorry. I thought I knew what I wanted but then…" he breaks off, things are getting dangerously close to revealing the heart of the matter. He can't do this, can't tell _Sharingan Kakashi_ the truth. He's a man who could be the Hokage one day, he already has the strength, and Iruka can't - _won't_ \- look weak in front of him.

(But Iruka has learned a lot about Kakashi these last few months. Far more than he ever thought he could. The real issue isn't Kakashi thinking he's weak; instead it is Iruka feeling like a burden. He is capable, dependable. The familiar face at the mission desk, the one who teaches your children and welcomes you home with a smile. People _rely_ on him and, with all his years alone, Iruka never quite learned how to rely on others)

"I'm sorry if I made it seem like there was something else." He eventually settles on, focusing all his effort in stilling the incessant tremble of each word. "I'm sorry if you feel like I've… led you on, or promised something that I can't deliver; that wasn't my-"

Kakashi cuts over him, singular eye suddenly flat and unreadable. Like a steel wall, erected to hide and protect. It's an expressionless sort of calm that makes Iruka's skin crawl, artificially withdrawn and lifeless as it flitters away from Iruka.

"There's no need to apologise. I… misread the situation. I assumed things I shouldn't have. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable."

"You didn't misread anything. I- I meant it. All of it. I just- I thought I was ready for- I thought I could do _this,_ whatever _this_ is. But I can't. I'm really sorry."

_You really are a pathetic excuse for a ninja,_ Mizuki's voice whispers in his ears. 

And when his eyes meet Iruka, all he can think of is _silver hair, grey eyes._ As if under a genjutsu, Iruka sees flashes of Mizuki's feline smirk behind Kakashi's mask, sees something cruel and cold and calculated.

_I'm the only one who loves you,_ he hears. _Nobody will ever love you like I do. Your friends, your colleagues, they don't understand you; they don't know you. I'm the only one. I'm all you have._

He can _feel_ it against his skin, the phantom touches. Not just the burn of his spine, but the pattern of fingertips pressed into his skin. The nails that always dug in a little too hard whenever Mizuki was angry, (which had happened more and more often as time had passed) the kisses and the _touches_ that Iruka didn't really want. _But who else would want you?_ Mizuki had always said. _Nobody else wants you, nobody else needs you. But I do. So don't go out tonight, stop speaking to Asuma, maybe it'd be good if you worked less, I should move into your apartment, don't go out with your friends tonight, stay here with me, why do you keep making me angry, why don't you listen, you're lucky I love you, you're lucky. You're lucky. You're lucky. You're-_

_Hey. What do you think of that Uzumaki brat?_

"Of course. I understand." Kakashi says and the spell is broken. Mizuki fades from his face in plumes of smoke, the nasty whisper in his head quietens to nothing but a low, residual hum. He's breathing heavy, too heavy, and he can feel the familiar tendrils of panic as his lungs burn and his throat suddenly seems far too small. 

"...see you around, Iruka."

There's a pause, a moment of silence where all Iruka wants to do is to grab Kakashi's hand in his own and hold on to it like a lifeline. The thought, the familiarity, terrifies him.

They're too close. The distance between them is no longer a gaping canyon, an endless field. They're just a few steps away from each other now, so close that all Iruka has to do is reach out his hand…

Hurriedly, he steps back.

"Iruka- _sensei,_ " he corrects and pretends that it doesn't hurt. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly Naruto's letters were so much fun to write. I wish I'd made them longer, considering I originally planned this to revolve entirely around Naruto's letters, but... well, nothing in this happened as I wish it had lmao.


	4. Letter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow uh I did not do a good job at keeping these chapters consistent in length. More angst coming your way because it is all I know how to write.

_Heya, Iruka-sensei!_

_Training's been a bit slower these past few weeks - pervy-sage has started writing a new book so I'm sort of being left to my own devices. It's pretty boring to train by myself, but it's okay! I'll be back home soon and then I can show everyone just how much I've improved._

_I know you can't reply to these, but it always makes me feel a little better to write to you._

_I really, really miss everyone back home._

_And you can't tell anybody this, not even Kakashi-sensei, but it's a little scary sometimes. I don't really know what's happening with the Akatsuki stuff, but I think things are getting a lot more dangerous now. Of course, I'm really brave and strong so I don't have to worry about stuff like that. Not too much, anyway._

_I hope you're not working yourself too hard. Pervy-sage says opposites attract, so maybe you and Kakashi-sensei would make good friends. He's always late and slacking off and you never seem to stop working. Maybe you're already friends, since I've left. I wish I could know what's happening in Konoha whilst I'm gone. I still don't even know if any of my letters have even gotten to you._

_It's nice to write, though. Especially to you._

_Naruto_

It seems, no matter how hard Iruka tries, it is utterly impossible to escape the shadow of Kakashi. Since that afternoon, three weeks have passed and Iruka has barely seen that unruly thatch of silver hair, nor been subjected to another one of those one-eyed stares. Yet for as much as Kakashi has been physically absent, it is as if his spirit has been following Iruka around almost non-stop.

A phenomenon, Iruka knows there's some science-y bullshit explanation for it. Frequency bias, or something. But even still, it seems as if the entire village is now hell-bent on bringing up Kakashi. No matter where he goes, there are reminders everywhere. He can't escape the shadows, the silhouettes of that one man that follow him _everywhere_ he goes _._

His favourite bookshop, the one a few blocks away from his apartment that semi-runs as a cafe, has suddenly started selling various titles in the _Icha Icha_ franchise. The local market seems to have suddenly become a hotspot for Kakashi-based gossip, with Iruka having to fight the urge to cover his ears as yet another person decides to (loudly) comment on just what they'd do to the Copy-Nin if they ever got him under the sheets.

Even his friends, to some extent, seem to bring up Kakashi a lot more than they normally did. Shared missions one day, general observation another and (on some rare occasions) the familiar ribbing of Iruka's past crush return. Although the latter has begun to run dry now, considering the way his face had darkened in storm clouds when Genma made yet another suggestive, innuendo-filled comment and Anko pried just a little too far into his personal business.

Honestly, he feels a little guilty. His friends are… pushing things. Trying to figure out what happened between him and Kakashi. They know _something_ is going on, because Asuma had (loudly) announced that Kakashi looked, as a direct quote, 'depressed as shit'.

Despite the fact that Iruka hasn't said anything, it's pretty obvious to see the dramatic shift in their relationship. The late-night meals have ground to a halt, the lingering conversations at the mission desk, the greetings and kind smiles, they've all vanished to something less than dust. 

Hell, they don't even cross paths anymore. Kakashi always seems to be out on missions these days and whenever he isn't, Iruka makes sure to avoid the places he might be like the plague. For a ninja, such changes in schedules are obvious - especially with somebody like himself, who is full of nothing but repeated habits - and it's clear that everybody is curious about what's happened, although some of them hide that interest with more talent than others. (Again, for a jonin-level ninja, Asuma completely lacks that delicate touch)

Either way, life gradually begins to return to normal.

It's a little less exciting, sure. A little more boring, restricted. Iruka goes to work, goes home. Meets up with friends semi-regularly, usually once a week, goes home again. He stares at Naruto's empty room, reads, tries not to stare at the photo of Team Seven and then reads some more. Honestly, it's pretty fucking boring. Iruka's prankster days might be a long way behind him, but that doesn't mean he's _dull_. He just… likes structure. Likes the control of his life, the way he can plan out each day and already know what's going to happen. 

Maybe that's what had scared him so much about Kakashi. The man is anything but the expected, anything but the norm. He embodies _unusual,_ the poster-boy for that well-known 'jonin madness'. 

Kakashi had been a risk, an unknown. Something that Iruka couldn't predict, couldn't understand. 

Iruka thought he'd been over this. Thought that Naruto was living proof he could deal with chaos, with unpredictability at its finest.

But Naruto had been there _before._ And, as Iruka has come to realise, things from _before_ are easier to handle. Easier to trust, easier to open up to. Even if Naruto was _the number one unpredictable ninja,_ he was… predictable in that unpredictableness. Iruka was _used_ to it. He knew what to expect, even if he couldn't quite predict exactly _what._

Kakashi is just an enigma through and through. 

So, in all, he and Kakashi have not seen each other for a while. Whether or not it's due to Iruka's striking ability to fade into the background or Kakashi's top-notch skills in avoidance, the two of them haven't spoken at all since _that_ day. 

They'd seen each other a grand total of once. Made eye contact in the hallway outside the Hokage's office. Kakashi's eye had blown wide, his cheeks had burned, and he'd given Iruka wide berth as he passed and the two of them had shuffled away; awkward and stilted and oh so nervous. He'd twitched as Iruka had walked on by, fingers almost reaching out to grab him, but nothing had happened. He'd pulled back, retracted in on himself like a turtle hiding in its shell, and turned his back.

That's it, really. That's all the contact they've had in three weeks.

The worst thing about it all is that things haven't gotten better. Iruka had convinced himself that, once Kakashi was no longer a constant in his life, the dreams and the thoughts and the whispers would fade. That Mizuki, who clings to Iruka's soul like a phantom, would eventually fall adrift.

Foolishly, he'd believed that things would get easier. That with Kakashi's absence; the sickness of fear and anxiety and the bubbling thoughts of never being good enough would go. They'd been a permanent fixture of Iruka's life ever since _it_ had happened, but they'd gotten worse as his… friendship with Kakashi had grown. But now, with his relationship with Kakashi damaged and destroyed, things have only gotten worse.

Mizuki lingers, always. A shadow of a man in the backs of Iruka's eyelids, a mocking figure that reminds Iruka of what he's pushed away. He feels the betrayal anew, the fresh burn of a wound that will never truly heal. The scar Mizuki had left was physical, a deep matting of puckered flesh that would stain Iruka's spine in permanent memory. That, in the cold weather and sometimes when it rained, would make it hard to stand up, on rare occasions make it hard to even walk. 

What Iruka hadn't accounted for was the other sort of scars. The ones that cannot be seen, cannot be soothed away by ointments and bedrest and a very talented medic. The ones on the inside, the thoughts and the memories and the _fears._

He thought he'd done the right thing when he'd pushed away Kakashi. Thought he was protecting himself, protecting Kakashi. Because who could ever love Iruka? Mizuki had been it, Mizuki had been all he had, and Mizuki had _ruined_ him. Left scars that won't heal and trust that won't grow back. Who would ever want him?

But for as much as he had convinced himself that this was for the best, that Kakashi wouldn't want him anyway, he doesn't feel better at all.

If anything, he feels worse. 

It feels like living in shadows, being stuck inside whilst everyone else enjoys the sunlight. 

Like proof, he's only solidified what Mizuki said to him all those years ago. He'd had a chance, a genuine _chance_ at something new, and he'd ruined it. Shattered it beyond repair. 

_Nobody will love you like I do,_ Mizuki had always said. Traced it into Iruka's skin like a curse, whispered it into his spine and kissed it into Iruka's lips. _How could anybody love you? You're broken, you're damaged, but I can fix you. Just me, only me._

The realisation hits him late one night as he re-reads Naruto's latest letter; traces his fingers over the slight indents where Naruto had pressed down the pen too hard. There's a faint line of characters underneath one sentence, the words rubbed out but still barely visible when the light hits it a certain way. _You're like family,_ it says and Iruka wants to cry. 

He _misses_ Naruto. Misses him so badly it _hurts._ He's… Iruka's not a father, he'd never really planned on being one. But when he thinks of Naruto, looks at the countless photos of him he keeps on his cabinet, and his walls and his fridge and _everywhere_ he feels an awful lot like one. 

And he seems so… scared, in this letter. He'd denied it, Iruka can imagine him scrubbing the back of his head with a sheepish smile, laughing off the doubt and the fears, but he's still scared. The boy is but a child, and no matter how strong or how determined, a child can't face the fears of the world alone. Iruka wants to be by his side, take him in his arms as his mother once did for him; hold Naruto and stroke his hair as if he himself can protect him from all the harm in the world.

But Naruto isn't here and the world is not kind.

He wishes he was, though. Wishes so desperately he almost can't breathe with the might of it.

Everything feels so… loose. Fragile. As if his life is slowly coming apart at the seams and he doesn't know what to do about it. 

He knows what Naruto would say, though. If he closes his eyes, he can almost hear Naruto beside him. _Screw that Mizuki-bastard,_ he'd say - and Iruka would scold his bad language. _You deserve better than him_.

He looks at the letter, wishes he could put his arms around Naruto's shoulder or buy him too many bowls of ramen. To think the boy had grown so strong, transformed from that lonely child who craved attention from others into someone who Iruka genuinely believes, one day, could change the world.

Naruto would just want Iruka to be happy. That's all the boy has ever really wanted; for those he loves to be happy.

Iruka wonders why it has to be so hard sometimes, to be happy. 

He wonders why, when it was offered to him, he pushed it away.

The photograph of Team Seven stares at him from across the room and Iruka desperately tries to convince himself he made the right choice.


	5. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory whump and pretentious talking about feelings time!!!
> 
> WARNING for a lot of blood in this chapter. I don't think it's too graphic, nothing outside the realm of canon typical, but just in case!!

There are no new letters from Naruto.

He tries not to worry, not too much anyway, but… 

Well. It's best to not think about such things at all

x

It's late one night, a few months after the incident, where Iruka is awoken to a strange tapping against his bedroom window.

A quick glance at the clock proves that it's three in the morning and Iruka is content to presume the sound was a figment of his imagination. 

That is until, of course, he hears it again. 

It's loud, unmistakably so, and each knock is rapped out in pattern, a little solid rhythm of incessant _thunks_ against Iruka's window. He ignores it for a few moments longer, he's warm and comfortable and if he just slips his eyes shut…

It gets louder. Loud enough, in fact, that Iruka fears for his window's safety. The glass is thick, but it isn't _that_ thick. 

With a resounding sigh, he reluctantly slips out of the comforting heat of his duvet and ignores the prickles of night chill against his bare arms. It's too early to be dealing with this shit, but whatever is outside his window is showing no signs of letting up.

Mumbling a series of sleep-dazed threats and curses, the curtains are drawn back to reveal a silver trail of pale moonlight, a little bright against Iruka's semi-squinted eyes. 

It takes a few seconds for him to adjust, his hand absently scrubbing at a particularly knotted clump of hair at the nape of his neck, but gradually things come into view. 

He almost has a goddamn heart attack.

Unmistakably, _Kakashi_ is slouched against his window, blood smeared where his head rests against it; a pattern of red fingerprints lining up and down the glass and, as if unaware of himself, he bangs out another _thunk thunk thunk._ Even through the glass, even with the shroud of night and sleep-haze hindering his vision, Kakashi's eyes look unfocused. The way he holds himself is all wrong, hunched over with his leg bent awkwardly and his fingers misshapen and oozing. 

_Fucking hell._

In a quick flash of hand signs, dismantling his carefully placed wards, Iruka unlatches the window and mutters out a curse as Kakashi literally slides inside. 

The man is barely coherent, that much is obviously clear. He's a dead weight in Iruka's arms, heavier than he would have thought, and his skin is cool to the touch. Matted silver hair, usually frizzy and wild and sticking out in all matter of odd directions, is plastered to his forehead in a grim mixture of sweat and blood. Desperately, Iruka hopes it isn't his own, but as adept fingers pull apart the clotted locks, more blood oozes out, spattering onto Iruka's carpeted floors. 

Overwhelmingly, he stinks of metal and something darker, something not quite tangible. It's bitter, though; almost hard to breathe in as Iruka tries to gather his thoughts.

Kakashi groans, low and deep, voice barely a whisper. Even with only the guide of moonlight, Iruka can see that he is pale - unnaturally so. Tinted grey, growing devoid of life in between Iruka's tan fingers. 

His arm is bent at an odd angle, his leg too, and Iruka is certain (if he were to check) his ribs would be a mess of fractured bone and torn muscles. And the blood. _Oh,_ the blood. There's so much of it, leaking and oozing and spurting from every inch of his skin. It coats Iruka's own; thick and sticky-almost, an unnatural weight to it as Iruka's palms press over the worst of it.

Under his breath, Kakashi mumbles something that sounds a lot like _Iruka_. Studiously, said man ignores it; he needs all the concentration he can get to begin healing - if only to stem the blood flow somewhat. Iruka is all too aware that his knowledge of medical ninjutsu is clearly lacking for injuries as dire as these, but he's getting more and more concerned about the amount of blood Kakashi is losing. Moving him to the hospital is too risky right now; he doesn't want to exacerbate any of his injuries more than necessary. Besides, he's no medic whizz but you pick up a thing or two here and there when you train tiny children to throw very sharp killing tools for a living. It's a bit bare-bones, a bit rudimentary, but it will be enough. Iruka will make it so.

" _Iruka,"_ Kakashi says again and this time there is no mistaking it, no ignoring it.

For as much as his vision is shaky and unfocused, it suddenly seems piercing in its intensity. Kakashi looks right at him, looks deep into his eyes for the briefest of seconds and Iruka feels _naked_ under it. It's then that Iruka realises his hitai-ate has slipped, the red of his Sharingan luminous in the darkness; the iris swirling in all manner of directions as Kakashi just _stares._

He's never seen a Sharingan this close before. Never thought he would, considering what happened to the Uchiha. But it's here now, boring into Iruka's innermost self, and while it's almost distracting in a melancholy sort of beauty, there's a danger to it that settles in the air. 

The mirror-wheel eye, a tale of death and sadness belonging to a clan who had suffered most. It should be terrifying, Iruka should probably fear such strength. Yet Kakashi is _looking_ at him, his eyes focused and burning with a clarity that should be impossible in his current state and Iruka can't bring himself to look away. 

Then, as quickly as it had happened, it fades into a dull, bleary sort of disinterest. Kakashi blinks up at him, Sharingan slipping shut as his other, cool and grey, clouds over like frosted glass.

" _Iruka…"_ he repeats, hissing in pain as Iruka begins to heal a particularly deep wound. 

Steeling himself, trying to throw himself into healing (because he _really_ needs the concentration) he ignores it yet again. But once the blood begins to ebb in its endless flow, and Iruka has healed everything he can, (which is less than he would like) there's not much else he can focus on. 

"...'m sorry," Kakashi mumbles out, slurring his words. Low and pitiful, _crooning,_ almost. 

He's delirious. Barely conscious of where he is. He doesn't know what he's saying. 

Iruka whispers back pleasantries, _it's fine, you're fine. Shh, don't say anything, I'll get you to the hospital,_ and then Kakashi grows limp in his arms. He's breathing, deep and steady, but he flops forward like a sack of potatoes, blood pooling at the corners of his mouth.

_Fuck._

x

The hospital is not a pleasant place to be. Cold, clinical, all white-washed walls and disinfected sheets. It's a place that people come to die, a place full of waiting and fear and _blood,_ all hidden behind a nurse's faux-bright smile and ether-green hands.

Iruka doesn't like it. He doesn't know many shinobi who do. Of course, it's an integral part of Konoha, one that they couldn't live without. 

Medical ninjas are incredibly rare, a talent long sought after from all corners of the world. It's a difficult job, too. Anyone can hold a kunai, learn to punch and kick and evade, but not just anyone can learn to heal. Even jonin, geniuses with talent and skill who shine in their villages like evening stars, can barely hold a candle to a qualified medical-nin. Their talents in chakra control are a gift not given to many, and even those who can learn the basics will rarely ever have the focus or _will_ that all medic-nin possess. Of course, it's an unpleasant job.

The hospital is always spick and span; clean as a whistle and always that artificial white. Beneath it all, death stirs in bedlam. The guilt, the crushing reality of a medic-nin that plagues them all. Of _I could have healed them, I could have saved them._

So, no, Iruka doesn't like hospitals. Not one bit.

He stays, though. Even when his skin crawls and he can hear the _beep, beep, beep_ of a monitor; one that reminds him so clearly of the days spent lying on his stomach, people poking and prodding and _touching_ and never telling him just how bad things could have been.

( _You're lucky you weren't paralysed. Lucky that you're not dead. Things could have been much, much worse)_

Tsunade had grumbled and swore when she was called down to the hospital, let out a stream of expletives that had Iruka biting the inside his cheek (that teacher-instinct could be a killer, even if he knows his language isn't that much better) as she obviously restrained herself from punching a passed out Kakashi through the wall. She has the same Vein of Doom that Iruka has; the one that pulses in her forehead every so often and has Shizune (who's always hot at Tsunade's heels) not quite hiding behind her clipboard.

" _Idiot,_ " Tsunade mumbles under her breath. " _Fool._ " She spits a little and Shizune takes a step back. "Always pushing himself too hard- one of these days I won't be here to heal the results of his stubbornness." 

And then she turns to Iruka, expression morphing into something much softer and much kinder. 

Friends always tell Iruka he has a natural 'likability' about him, something that made him well-trusted by the Sandaime and now that trust has been passed over to the Godaime. It's why he has special clearance, why he's trusted with issues that others of his rank are not. Given, there are a rare few who think Iruka is a 'suck-up', that he simpers and panders to authority figures in some desperate clinging to power. Which isn't true, because Iruka is all too aware that the council despises him. Especially Danzo, who - whenever they cross paths - stares at Iruka like he's a particularly nasty piece of shit on his shoe. (Iruka had been one of the loudest to oppose the legislation lowering the academy graduation age, after all)

Regardless of the reasons, Tsunade seems to respect him for… something. Iruka still doesn't quite know _what_ exactly he's done, but every so often she looks at him the same way the late Sandaime did and he finds himself strangely flattered, even if he has no clue _why_ the last two Hokages have seemed to be so fond of him. 

"You can stay, if you want, Iruka-sensei," she had said, a little glint in her eyes that said more than words ever could.

At first, his instinct had been to decline. Make up some bullshit excuse and pretend that he really wasn't all that concerned about Kakashi - not any more than some random colleague would be. Of course, such an effort would be in vain. If there's one thing both Tsunade and Hiruzen have in common, is their terrifying ability to see right through all lies and falsehoods. Also, ninja or not, Iruka's never really gotten the hang of the whole lying and deception thing. He can fool a small child, perhaps, or a particularly unobservant Naruto, but that's about it.

Keeping that in mind, he lets the facade slip. Shoulders sagging, eyes misty and downturned at their tired edges, he sighs long and deep. The exhaustion must be clear on his face for Tsunade offers a tight sort of smile that creases the corners of her lips; the faintest trace of wrinkles lingering on her smooth skin that even her henge cannot hide completely.

"Thank you, Hokage-sama."

Rolling her eyes at the formality (she always demanded that he not use her title; as had the late Sandaime, but Iruka's always been stubborn) she leads him down a series of identical hallways, Shizune hot on her heels as a medic-nin (who Iruka only vaguely recognises) carefully removes Kakashi from his iron grip. 

A few moments later, Kakashi is gone and Iruka is being seated in a horrible looking chair with the promise to let him know once the worst of Kakashi's injuries have healed. Tsunade, instantly, had seemed to come to the assumption that Iruka was going to wait here, wait until Kakashi was stabilised and sit with him until he was at least somewhat better.

Her assumption isn't wrong.

The image of Kakashi pale and still, eyes shut and skin stained with thick red blood, lingers in Iruka's thoughts as he sits and waits. In a phantom shadow, irrational fear creeps in through the depths of exhaustion; he's too tired to think clearly, to compartmentalise the events of this evening rationally, and it's all Iruka can do to not do something embarrassing. Like burst into tears.

Kakashi won't die, of course. (Or so he repeats to himself) Tsunade is a master healer, a medic beyond the realms of anyone's imaginations, and Iruka _knows_ the jonin - full of endless courage and foolhardiness - has been inflicted with much worse than this. A thought which hurts with a harsh sort of edge, a pain that Iruka is all too familiar with. The one that comes whenever he thinks about Sasuke, about Naruto. About all the children he teaches, all the people in his life left wayward with unforgiving realities. The life of a shinobi is cruel and tireless and Iruka desperately wishes Kakashi didn't have to carry such a burden. 

Yet to think that, to have the wish that he, _Iruka_ , could be somebody to lessen that burden; it is terrifying. Even though Iruka devotes his life to helping others, to trying his damndest to ensure his students live as long as they possibly can, to be there for his friends and his colleagues when things get tough, he's never felt this way about anybody before. Not even with Mizuki.

Love is a fickle thing and, as Iruka sits out in that hallway with the _tick tick ticking_ of a clock his only company, he realises that it cannot be squashed or hidden. Whether or not Iruka likes it, there is _something_ there. Something that won't just disappear, no matter how much easier things would be if it did.

He's here, at four in the goddamn morning, freezing his ass off in a cold, dreary hospital hallway. As soon as Tsunade is finished, he knows fully well that he's going to sit beside Kakashi until he wakes up. Even if he has to take a day off, he _will_ be there.

His back hurts, the shadow of cold eyes and silver hair rises like a curse in his mind, and Iruka knows that he isn't ready for a _relationship._ Not like that.

But he's also coming to realise that bonds can't just be destroyed, no matter how much he tells himself they can. 

_Friends,_ Iruka tells himself. _That's all it has to be. Let the rest come naturally._

When Tsunade eventually calls him in, patting a hand on his shoulder and offering a small, genuine smile, he smiles back. Silver hair and grey eyes imprint themselves on his eyelids, but when something anxious rises and his back aches with that age-old pain; he ignores it.

As he enters the private room, sits in one of the horrible hospital chairs and prepares himself for an uncomfortable night, he ignores it still.

Looking down at Kakashi, still pale but now breathing with slow and steady breaths, chest rising and masked face peaceful, he stops thinking of it altogether.

In a few minutes, the pain disappears completely. 

He smiles, lets the tension of the evening drain out of him, and hopes that Kakashi will wake up soon. 

x

Next thing he knows, his eyes blearily blink to the shutter of sunlight, mouth heavy and eyelashes clumped together with sleep. The first thing he notices is the dull ache of his back; the embedded scar tissue will no doubt cause him some grief over the next few days. His shoulders too are tight, uncomfortable and stiff and plasticky in their sockets. In his sleep-addled thoughts, he makes a mental note to make a visit to the nearest Onsen as soon as he has the time.

The next thing he is aware of is the slightest pressure on his head, the feeling of somebody carefully running their fingers through the bed-ridden strands of his hair. 

As soon as he moves his head, curling like a cat in summer-haze, the sensation vanishes. Suddenly, the touch is drawn back like an electric shock and Iruka makes a faint groaning noise, pushing his face further into the weird lumpy pillow he's sleeping on.

Wait.

_Wait._

With a choked sort of splutter and a flurry of semi-slurred apologies, Iruka sits up with a start, Back creaking and popping with protest and his hair falling about his face in wild disarray, he no doubt looks like a mess. There's dried drool smeared all over his cheeks and mouth and chin (he needs to learn how to sleep with his mouth shut) and, knowing his luck, he's probably got horrible red creases all over his face. Usually, a sure sign of an _amazing_ sleep but is now just ensuring Iruka looks as bedraggled as possible. He must look like a fool.

Kakashi is smiling at him, thin fabric of his maks pulled tight over the curve of his lips. His one eye (the other one covered by a gauze-y looking eyepatch) creased into a happy little line.

"You're here," he breathes as if he can't quite believe it. " _You're here,"_ he repeats as if he's a little scared Iruka is a mirage, a genjutsu only waiting to be dispelled.

Flushing to the roots of his hair, Iruka isn't quite sure how to respond. Instead, he focuses on rubbing the excess sleep out of his eyes, looking anywhere except Kakashi. 

"I'm sorry-" they both say at the same time and before either of them can even _think_ , Iruka begins to ramble; still tired enough that his brain hasn't quite gotten ahold of his mouth

"I'm sorry about what I said before, you know. I- uh, I just panicked, y'know? I didn't want to… I like spending time with you, it just… kind of reminded me of… _things,_ and then I panicked and I shouldn't have-"

"No. Don't apologise," Kakashi interrupts him, raising a silencing hand as Iruka opens his mouth in protest.

"You don't have to say anything. I get it. We're shinobi, emotional baggage is sort of part of the deal."

It's said lightly, as a joke, and Iruka cracks a smile that's only a little forced; huffs out a laugh through his nose. Kakashi, for a moment so brief it could have been nothing more than imagination, looks like Iruka's just hung the stars in the sky.

"I showed up to your house _half dead_ last night and you're the one apologising?" Face sobering and shadows stretching across his brow, Kakashi lowers his voice. "I shouldn't have done that. Even if I-" he cuts himself off, "I'm sorry for putting you through that."

"It's okay," Iruka says and it sort of _isn't_ but he doesn't know how to articulate what he's feeling. Last night had been _terrifying,_ Iruka still has Kakashi's blood crusted under his fingernails and staining his shirt. He probably won't ever get the stains out of his carpet, but there's a quiet little part of him that doesn't mind at all. Or, more specifically, he doesn't mind that Kakashi went to _him._ He'd be a fool to wish that Kakashi would never get hurt like that again, but he's… touched that he trusted Iruka with this. That he went to _his_ house, knocked on _his_ window. It's also terrifying but, beneath that familiar tendril of fear, it's… _nice._

There's just one thing though. Something Iruka still doesn't understand.

"Why did you come to me?" He asks and the silence that follows is deafening. 

Eventually though, Kakashi heaves out a sigh. 

"You make me feel _safe_ ," he says and Iruka feels the breath get knocked right out of his lungs.

It's too much too fast and all of a sudden Iruka's back _burns_ and he can't quite remember how to do that whole breathing thing, his vision is swimming and he feels like he might be sick. But then there are fingers on his wrist, a warm pressure on his pulse that gently squeezes until he remembers where he is.

" _Fuck,_ sorry," he hisses, breath whistling through his gritted teeth.

"Stop apologising for _everything._ I shouldn't have… dumped that on you. I-" Kakashi does something that could be biting the inside of his cheek, but it's hard to tell. "I didn't mean to say that. I mean, it's _true_ but I shouldn't have…"

Iruka breathes long and slow, closes his eyes until he feels himself begin to calm down. His back still twinges but he manages to push aside the pain, the memory. 

"Did Naruto ever tell you how he became a genin?" He asks because now probably isn't the right time but he doesn't know if he'll ever have the courage to bring this up again.

To his credit, Kakashi looks only the tiniest bit off-kilter at the change in subject. He nods, though, head tilting as if slowly figuring something out.

"Bits and pieces," he admits. "I don't know how much of it is true and how much has been… _Naruto-ised_ " Despite the more sombre tone of their conversation, Iruka barks out a laugh.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Naruto has a tendency to…"

"Lie?"

"I was going to say exaggerate, but that works too."

He smiles, one that most definitely doesn't meet his eyes, and he tries not to think about Naruto too hard. It's been so long since the last letter, so long since Iruka's heard a whiff of news and… Gathering himself, drawing his shoulders in tight, Iruka presses onwards.

"What did he tell you?"

An only slightly shaky hand rises to his nose, finger pushing up against the fabric in thought. Kakashi tilts his head.

"He was manipulated into stealing one of the forbidden scrolls, right? I presume that's how he learned to make shadow clones, but he always talked about 'that bastard… uh, Mizuki-sensei'?" He pauses, waiting for Iruka's affirming nod. "and then you, of course." 

His face softens, eye relaxing in an expression Iruka doesn't quite know how to read. "You were the first person to protect him, to believe in him. That's all he told me, really. He's always so quick to brag about everything to anyone who'll listen, but whenever his graduation got brought up, he'd go quiet."

Iruka nods. Figures out how to explain the rest of it without turning it into a pity party. Now _definitely_ isn't the time for this. Not when Kakashi still looks uncomfortably pale and his hands are still far too shaky. There are other things he should be asking, more important issues at hand, but… logically, he knows he's being selfish; but he also knows that the chance of him _ever_ voluntarily bringing up that night again is slim to none. 

Kakashi deserves an explanation, at the very least.

"That's the most of it, really. Mizuki… tricked Naruto. He told him about the fox," he's aware that his voice is trembling, that he's already getting too emotional, but every time he thinks of it, every time he remembers the expression on Naruto's face as Mizuki told him he was a monster, it makes him beyond furious. 

Taking a steadying breath, he continues.

"He was going to kill Naruto- he… he threw a fuma shuriken straight at him. At a _child,_ one who couldn't even make a single decent clone. So I… I did the only thing I could think of. I jumped in front of him. Took the shuriken right into my spine."

Kakashi sucks in a sharp inhale, wincing in a mixture of both surprise and something that isn't quite pity.

" _Fuck,_ " he breathes, "that's- Naruto said you got injured, but I didn't realise... " He pauses, holding an intense contact that has Iruka holding his breath.

"It's fine. Or, well, it's not _fine_ but I'm better now. Obviously." 

Swallowing deeply, realising he's gradually losing control of this conversation - the last thing he needs is for this to turn into some sad little pity-fest for himself. he forces himself back on track. Still studiously ignoring Kakashi's face - he's scared of what he might see there; of what Kakashi might think of him now, he takes another deep breath. (Iruka's always been _weak_ , never been suited for life as a shinobi)

"But Mizuki… he and I were a- we were _together._ " He's barely even started and he can already feel his throat getting all blocked up, the way his tongue suddenly rests heavier in his mouth. It doesn't help matters that Kakashi's face has gone blank, for the life of him Iruka could not even guess what the jonin is thinking. 

"He was my closest friend. The person who I thought I could trust with my life, with _everything._ I loved him and I thought he loved me." His voice cracks just a little bit, _loved_ forced out in a half-choke as he wills himself to stop crying. "And he betrayed the village. He tried to kill Naruto, tried to steal a forbidden scroll, _all_ for his own personal gain."

And this is where the crux of the matter lies.

"I didn't know. I loved him so much, the thought of him doing anything, _anything_ like this, never even crossed my mind. I was a fool, an idiot. There were so many signs, so many warnings, so many things he did that weren't _right_ but I ignored them. I trusted in him, no matter what he did or said, I-"

He stops himself, trying to scrub at his eyes surreptitiously - as if Kakashi could somehow miss the fact that he's very obviously starting to cry. Everything has just built itself up. The years spent never quite recovering, the confusion with Kakashi; the fear of something vulnerable and intimate. He's overworking himself, been getting less and less sleep and Naruto hasn't sent a letter in so long and he's probably oversharing now; he's definitely said too much, but the waterworks have loosened and Iruka's never been good at keeping his mouth shut when he should.

"How did you do it?" Iruka asks, a plea in his voice. "You- so much has happened in your life, so much _wrong_ and yet you approached me and you _wanted_ me and I don't understand how you can do that. I don't-"

There's a pressure tightening ever so slightly around his wrist, a calloused thumb stroking at the soft skin just under his knuckles. It's achingly familiar in a way Iruka hasn't felt in a long time. Somewhere deep in his memory there's a half-image of his mother and father comforting one another after a particularly challenging mission. 

"It's hard," Kakashi says, voice slow as if trying to piece together exactly what he wants to say. 

"For a long time I thought I didn't deserve things like this. I thought that everyone I cared about was… I didn't think good things would last." There's a heavy moment, the air suddenly weighs against Iruka's lungs. The pressure around his wrist squeezes slightly.

"And I… got tired, I guess." 

"Got tired?" 

Kakashi's head tilts, his free hand rising to scrub at the eyepatch over his Sharingan. 

"I got tired of letting myself be alone. Of rejecting the things that made me happy."

He looks at Iruka then, _really_ looks at him. As if he can see right through his soul, right into the very deepest darkest depths of him. 

"You make me happy," he continues. "You're… _kind._ Genuinely kind, you do things for other people, always. Even when it doesn't benefit you. You go out of your way to help your friends, your students. It was _you_ who saved Naruto, you who believed in him when nobody else would. I… I come home from missions, where death lingers at every corner with somebody else's blood under my fingernails and you're… you're so _human._ You bring the best out in people. Even Sasuke who- who I couldn't save, he always… well, he didn't _smile_ but he always looked happier when he spoke about you."

His other hand takes Iruka's own then, until he's cradling one in his two. His fingers are slender, longer than Iruka's. Calloused and rough, scabbed over down one finger where a callous had hardened and split.

Iruka swallows. 

"But I'm… _weak_ ." he insists, hating how desperate he sounds. "I'm just some chunin who teaches children for a living. There's nothing special about me. No _kekkai genkai_ or bloodline limit, I'm not strong or fast or particularly smart, I'm just…"

"You've heard people talk about Naruto's 'talk-no-jutsu', right?"

Nodding slowly, Iruka agrees. It's a bit of a running joke between ninja at this point that Naruto never really needs to fight with his fists. He could talk a monster down from his perch, if he so wished. He had done so, Iruka reminds himself, and remembers how _Gaara of the Sand_ 's eyes, who had once seemed so filled with hate, had softened at their charcoaled edges. 

"Where do you think he got it from? _You_ taught him to believe in people. _You_ saved him from his own grief and in turn he saves others. _You_ overcame your hatred, saw the boy instead of the Kyuubi and _you_ showed him the power beyond power and death and war. Perhaps you don't see it in yourself, but your heart is your greatest strength."

Kakashi squeezes his hands again, harder this time. Even though he's pale - paler than usual - and he has blood-speckled bandages tied around his head and he really shouldn't be moving at all with those ribs, he does it anyway.

"You've had my attention for _years._ You… stand out and I've always contented myself with just watching. And then Naruto's letters- I admit, perhaps I took advantage of the situation." He quirks his brow, eyelashes dusky over his cheeks. 

"I enjoy talking to you and I found you even more interesting when you weren't shouting at me over paperwork and then…" trailing off, his lips shift beneath the mask.

"It doesn't make you weak, what happened with Mizuki. If I'd have known everything, I wouldn't have pushed nearly as hard as I did. I-"

His expression is so open, unguarded in a way Iruka would have once thought impossible and it leaves him fighting for breath. 

"No. It's- I feel the same way about you. I just… I'm not ready for something like that. Not yet." Iruka admits, scratching at the edge of his scar. "I got scared, and instead of talking about it, I pushed you away. I shouldn't have done that. You deserved an explanation. I'm sorry."

There's a wry smile fighting its way across Kakashi's face, a fondness in his eyes that has Iruka warmed to his very core. 

"What did I say about all that apologising, sensei?" His eye crinkles, mask shifts with his smile, before it smooths out once more. 

"There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm just happy you trusted me enough to let me in."

The following silence is only a little awkward, more raw and fragile with a lingering sort of fear. Iruka's eyes are still rimmed red and they sting a little bit every time he blinks but his lungs no longer feel full of rocks and his throat isn't quite as knotted. 

Kakashi, ever so slightly, begins to droop. The painkillers are no doubt catching up to him and Iruka is content to let him drift off back to sleep but there's something that still needs to be said. Something that hasn't quite been cleared up.

"I was terrified, last night." Is perhaps the worst way to begin, if the instant flash of guilt across Kakashi's face is anything to go by. "I thought you were going to die at first." A sharp inhale, a pinprick stare. The hairs on Iruka's arm stand on end. Taking a steady breath, he prepares himself.

"It made me realise how wrong I was. How _stupid_ I was to push you away. I don't know what we are or what you want me to be or even what I want you to be, but… _I thought you were going to die._ " He backs out in the last second, stresses his words with the hope that Kakashi will read underneath the underneath, see the truth that hides below. 

_I care about you,_ he doesn't say. _I couldn't bear to see you hurt. You're so, so dear to me._

Kakashi seems to understand anyway. 

"I can't apologise enough for that. I shouldn't have subjected you to that, I shouldn't have made you worry so. But I… I don't mind what we are, just as long as you're happy. That's all I really care about."

Half of Iruka melts at that, the other half wonders if it's a line from _Icha Icha._ Either way, there's a tightness in his chest that gradually begins to unravel. A sort of tenseness that he didn't even realise was clenched, a dull ache that he can feel beginning to fade. 

"How about we become friends first, Iruka." It's a familiar line, one Iruka had said himself all those months ago. "That is," Kakashi amends, "if you're okay with a little bit of jonin madness." It's said as a joke but the tone dips at the end, Kakashi's expression morphing into something far more serious. "I- in all honesty, I understand all too well how you feel. There are things- you know. _Things._ "

Iruka does know. Every ninja does. 

"We can take it slowly, though. Day by day."

"Day by day," Iruka agrees.

And although this conversation most definitely isn't over - there's a lot more that could be said, a lot more that still remains under the covers - it ends for now. 

The silence spreads and Kakashi's eyes slip shut yet not once does Iruka leave the room. His back aches from the god-awful hospital chairs, (seriously, what sort of psychopath made these things?) he sort of needs to go piss and his hair smells like garbage and yet he stays.

He doesn't leave when Tsunade returns, Sakura in tow, even when his former student throws a particularly curious glance his way. 

_You make me feel safe,_ Kakashi had said and maybe that was too much too fast, too much information dumped on his head at once, but… it's nice. 

For the first time in what feels like _years,_ Iruka lets himself relax.

Kakashi is okay. He'll make a swift recovery. Naruto is safe - he needs to trust Jiraiya, Sakura is blossoming into a fine medic, Mizuki is… well, he's not forgotten; but Iruka thinks about him and everything still feels sort of okay. 

It's not much but it's a start.

_You make me feel safe too,_ Iruka thinks, looking down at Kakashi. And maybe it's just a trick of the light, a figment of Iruka's imagination, but Kakashi's lips beneath his mask twitch up into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My notes/concept for this chapter was literally "one date where kakashi is a fucking moron and is injured, he refuses to go to the hospital bc stupid stupid monky man" 
> 
> which, I mean. That's sort of what I wrote. 
> 
> (One of these days I'll actually plan something out properly but today is not that day)


	6. Letter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring sentimental Iruka keeping every single gift he's received from anyone ever because I am a sentimental fool and the idea makes me soft (also might be setting myself up for a post-pain invasion oneshot where everything gets destroyed) 
> 
> This is a long chapter again because I don't know the meaning of consistency. Next chapter is my favourite though, so I'm looking forward to posting that.

_Heya Iruka-sensei!_

_Happy birthday! Or maybe happy early birthday? I'm writing this a few weeks before so I hope it gets to you on time! I totally owe you dinner when I get back, if pervy-sage doesn't take all my money. (again)_

_You're gonna be how old? 25? That's getting pretty old, sensei. If you think about it, you're gonna be halfway to 50 and that's basically ancient. You better not be all old and boring when I get back!_

_(I'm joking! You're kinda boring anyway, I think you're probably the only person in the world who likes doing paperwork, but you're also super cool which totally makes up for that)_

_Also, pervy-sage is trying to teach me genjutsu and it's really, really hard. He kind of sucks at it too, which isn't fair because he gets really cranky when I do it wrong, but I guess I have to learn how to do it if I ever want to stop Itachi. Pervy-sage said I didn't have to learn genjutsu if I could master fuuinjutsu, but that's even harder! I don't know how you're so good at it. You're totally better at it than pervy-sage, and I told him that and then he got SUPER mad which was pretty funny._

_Maybe, when I get back, you could try teaching me again? Or maybe you'll be too busy, I don't want to be a bother but if you ever had the time that would be pretty cool._

_Anyway, happy birthday sensei!_

_Missing you lots, Naruto_

"It's your birthday soon? When?" 

Iruka blinks a little bit at the sudden question. Of everything Naruto wrote in that letter, he had thought it unlikely that Kakashi would take interest in that. Although, to be fair, it's pretty hard to miss considering it had given Iruka a little bit of a complex the first time he read it.

_(Seriously,_ halfway to fifty? He'd never thought about it like that and now that he has he sort of wishes he'd never learned how to read. He's never felt so goddamn old, even though he's not anywhere _near_ being old)

"Oh, uh, tomorrow. May twenty-sixth."

"Maa, you should have told me. I didn't even realise." Kakashi leans just ever so slightly into Iruka's personal space; not enough to be uncomfortable but enough that it _could_ be, if Iruka were so inclined.

It's been a few months since the incident at the hospital. A few months of the two of them slowly rebuilding their friendship; of many more evenings spent at Ichirakus and (thankfully) other restaurants because, believe it or not, Iruka's diet does not only consist of ramen, as much as people might think it does. Sure, he definitely eats a worrying amount of the stuff, but he does like other things. (Mostly sweets, which Kakashi mocks him relentlessly for, because the jonin has uncovered his most embarrassing secret which is Iruka's preferred foods are strikingly similar to that of a six-year-old)

But they're the closest they've ever been now, excluding a few nicks and bumps on the road that rear their heads every so often. 

Mizuki seems more and more like a distant memory with each passing day, but there is still that seeping fear that sinks into Iruka every so often. The desire to not let people so close, to push away the things that make him happy for fear of being hurt.

On top of that, Kakashi is a myriad of issues on his own. Frequently, there are days of him being particularly withdrawn, contrasted with days of him being the complete opposite. Dates on the calendar that shift his mood from hot to cold in the blink of an eye. (which Iruka is slowly becoming accustomed to) He's never like Mizuki; never cold and calculating and cruel the one second and warm the next; never using his bad moods to manipulate, never snide and dismissive. But there are weeks at a time where he will remove himself from the world, crawl back into his shell and hide. Usually, it's after missions, the general rule being the more dangerous they are the more time he needs by himself. And, after that passes, he will wait for Iruka outside of the Academy or catch him after his mission desk shift and he will smile, one that's genuine, one where crow's feet crinkle at the happy curve of his eye.

Part of him wishes Kakashi would let himself be cared for. Let down those walls, let Iruka be by his side and share the weight of some of his burdens. 

Always, the offer lingers on the tip of his tongue, but Iruka still isn't quite sure if he's ready for something like that. More than anything, he wants to help, but he's all too aware that there's only so much help he can give.

Either way, he's surprised that Kakashi is bothered about his birthday. In fact, the jonin almost looks a little disappointed that he didn't know. Vaguely, Iruka wonders if he should have mentioned something about it. The two of them, funnily enough, seem to have done everything backwards; Kakashi had almost _died_ on his bedroom floor and Iruka had divulged some of his most personal secrets and yet neither of them know each other's birthdays. Perhaps it's a little unorthodox, a little strange, but… it's working. Whatever the two of them have together, their friendship-that-could-possibly-perhaps-maybe-be-something-more, it's _good_. It's _nice_. Not always easy, not always fun, but… it's a start to something wonderful, Iruka knows it. 

He just needs the courage to make it something more.

"It's fine, don't worry about it." He waves off Kakashi's hang-dog expression, "I'm just going to go out with friends for drinks, nothing too fancy. I don't really like making a big deal out of it, but you know how it is…" trailing off, he makes a vague, wiggly sort of gesture with his hands.

"I'm friends with Gai," is Kakashi's response, said as a joke but his fondness seeps through. "Sometimes you don't even realise that you needed something until you've got a friend forcing you to walk around the village five-hundred times on your hands."

Iruka laughs at that, vaguely remembering something like that happening a few months ago. He hadn't realised Kakashi had been involved - it's not unusual to see Gai (and now Rock Lee) undertaking some bizarre 'self-rule' challenge, but he's yet to bear witness to the great Copy-Nin doing the same. He'll have to keep an eye out, just in case.

"It's good, though." Suddenly sombre, Kakashi continues. "You deserve people who care about you."

The air stills, evening light catching on the wispy strands of Kakashi's mess of grey hair. A spectrum of shimmer, rays of blue and gold and lilac, smatter his pale skin; pink unfurling from just beneath the mask like blossoms in spring. All too quickly, he shifts his head and the colour dissipates. The petals of blush tremble and fall, disappearing in almost an instant. Instead, it's replaced by an impish grin, one that squints his eyes into devilish light.

"And _I_ don't think you're boring, _sensei,_ " he says with the hint of a chuckle, "even if you do have a weird thing for paperwork."

"You'll never understand the beauty of a perfectly written report until you have to wade through a million ones that look like they've been mauled by a thousand bears, chewed up and then shat out."

Kakashi snorts and Iruka points an accusing finger at him.

"You're not allowed to laugh at that. I'd take a million of those bear-mauled-shit-reports over _one_ of your illegible pieces of trash _._ I swear, some days I'm convinced you never learned how to write."

Kakashi laughs at that, properly. A clear, free sort of sound that has a warm little ball of feelings swirling in Iruka's stomach. He looks down at him (ever so slightly taller when he's not stunted with that permanent slouch) and with one twinkling grey eye, winks. 

Or maybe he just blinks _very_ hard, it's pretty difficult to tell with the one eye and all. 

"Maa, my handwriting isn't _that_ bad, surely."

Snorting, Iruka shakes his head, knocking their shoulders together in familiar camaraderie. "I teach pre-genin with neater handwriting than yours." He pauses, the nightmare image of Kakashi's latest mission report - one that had been more mud and blood than paper - appearing in his mind. Suppressing a shiver, he adds on "and better spelling, too."

"I'm a wonderful speller."

"If you spell _shuriken_ with two _rs_ again I'll kill you."

Kakashi freezes at that, looking a little embarrassed.

"...I can't be worse than Genma."

Iruka wants to disagree but he suddenly remembers that Genma, even after all these years, still doesn't know how to spell Raido's name. Which is especially embarrassing, considering the two of them are basically married.

"I don't think anybody's worse than Genma. Did I ever tell you the time he…" They fall into their familiar routine; the one that sometimes feels a little _too_ familiar on bad days, but that's something Iruka's working on. Really, with the two of them sat here, making competition of jokes and quick wit as dusk begins to settle, he wouldn't change a thing.

Before either even realise it, their meal is finished (with Kakashi periodically taking pauses to inhale as much as humanly possible without revealing his face under the mask) and Iruka reluctantly realises he needs to leave soon. There's a whole pile of marking waiting for him at home and he really can't put it off any longer. (He's dreading it. This latest assignment had been perhaps a tad too difficult and he prays for the life of his poor green pens; no doubt the margins will be chock full of corrections and revisions)

He says as much to Kakashi who, to his credit, only lets a little bit of his disappointment seep through. The fact that he even looks disappointed does something warm and strange to Iruka's insides that, one of these days, he will have to seriously think about. Not now though. For now, he's content to let the feeling swell in his stomach, rise like butterflies to his chest and spread in dusky pink across his cheeks. He scrubs the raised edges of his scar, tries not to feel too self-conscious when Kakashi looks down at him like _that._

Together, they walk the familiar path to Iruka's apartment. Another ritual in their lives, a pleasant one that has him leaning into the slight warmth that emanates off of Kakashi in the early summer chill. Talking together blithely, about nothing and everything, he lets himself relax. The conversation is casual enough that he doesn't really have to pay attention, comfortable enough that he can just say whatever comes to his mind without fear or much thought. It's nice, _lazy,_ and it only gets nicer when Iruka makes a quick joke here and there and is rewarded by the sound of Kakashi's laughter. 

As always, however, it is over too soon. Iruka's apartment looms overhead and the chunin steels himself for an evening of reading poorly written history essays (he needs to ask some of his students where they're getting their information from - although one student's particularly Naruto-esque rendition of Hashirama and Madara's battle had been pretty entertaining) and too many cups of tea that never taste as good as the ones he used to drink with the late Sandaime. His back is going to _kill_ tomorrow, he already knows, but it's also his fault for leaving everything to the last minute. 

He hasn't put off doing work for a while. Not since Naruto was still around. 

His displeasure must show on his face for Kakashi looks down at him with a concerned sort of frown, brow twisted and mouth pursed behind the mask. He doesn't say anything, but he shifts just ever so slightly closer.

Suddenly, Iruka is caught by the clear image of late evenings spent with himself and Naruto. Ones where Naruto would lay sprawled out on the sofa, wearing clothes he'd nicked from Iruka's box of old things and socks more holes than fabric, and read one of his comic books as Iruka sat hunched over pages upon pages of assignments. They'd sit in relative silence, sporadically interrupted by Naruto's commentary of a particularly tense or exciting scene, and just _exist_ together. 

The memory is painfully domestic; the way he and Naruto gradually built their lives around one another, living in their own makeshift family that was no less precious than the one he once shared with his parents. He misses it desperately. Wishes he'd go home to the sight of Naruto wafting plumes of black smoke out of his- _their_ kitchen window, or to the sight of the kid passed out on the sofa, bedraggled and dirty from training and snoring loud enough to wake the dead.

With Naruto's letter in his pocket and the promise of an empty apartment waiting for him, Iruka feels a longing for company. He really doesn't want to be alone tonight. Not on the day before his birthday. 

"Do you… want to come inside?" He asks Kakashi before he can convince himself out of it. the question hangs in the air for a moment too long and he finds himself beginning to ramble. "I mean, I have loads of marking to do, so I won't be the best company, but if you wanted a cup of tea or something, you'd be welcome to stay."

"Ah, I don't want to impose…"

"I wouldn't ask if you were imposing," he insists, sounding just a little too earnest and excited at the thought of some company. 

And, although hidden beneath the mask, the answering smile is almost blinding.

x

"Cups are in the cupboard," Iruka says offhandedly as he boils the kettle, already aware that Kakashi has been fidgeting in place for the past two minutes looking for something to do. His presence is strange in Iruka's homely apartment; almost too big, too large. Although he's never been one to give in to the rumours, there is something just a little strange about _Sharingan Kakashi,_ the legend himself, one of Konoha's strongest ninja, perching awkwardly on Iruka's kitchen table as he shuffles about like a six-year-old on a sugar rush. Painfully, he reminds Iruka of Naruto; back in those early days when he'd first been invited over. Full of nervous energy, shaking with a pent-up fear of not belonging, not being welcome.

Iruka's heart clenches. Again, he finds himself wondering if Kakashi does things like this very often. Although the jonin has friends, Iruka knows he's not the most social of creatures. He's never really seemed the sort to stop by people's houses, sit quietly and do mundane things like _drink tea._

The mother-hen in him wants to bungle Kakashi up in a couple of blankets, force him down onto the sofa and pry him with countless cups of tea and biscuits. Another part of him, the part that sounds an awful lot like Mizuki, tells him to get the hell out of here.

Iruka's been listening to that part of himself a lot less lately. In fact, on most days, he's able to ignore it completely. 

Instantly, Kakashi stands with a start and rushes to the cupboard. Absently, Iruka notes that the hinges need oiling again, but when there's no sound of clinking mugs or cups, he turns to eye the jonin, semi-curious. 

There, he meets Kakashi's dumbfounded stare. The kettle bubbles away softly, the clock ticks faintly in the background and Iruka's cheeks flush a dark red.

"That's…" Kakashi swallows deeply. "That's a lot of mugs."

He looks a little frightened, a little impressed. 

Iruka should have listened to the mother-hen in him. Pushed Kakashi into the living area and let himself deal with the drinks. It's been so long since anybody new has visited his apartment, he kind of forgot just how excessive his collection is.

He _knows_ he owns a lot of mugs. He'd be a fool to not realise just how many mugs and cups he has in his house, considering they're literally everywhere. It's just… suddenly, with the cupboard opened ( _both_ doors as well, and all three shelves) it looks like an awful lot. 

That's not even all of them either. There's still another cupboard full, there's a good dozen loaded in the dishwasher, a few left in the sink, the ones on the windowsill, a particular few on his cabinet and there's the one he uses to hold his toothbrush and another couple he uses for chakra paper and…

To his horror, Kakashi opens another cupboard. Countless more mugs are revealed, these ones precariously stacked where Iruka had begun to run out of room.

"There's more?"

"I'm a teacher," Iruka says, strangely defensive. Perhaps it's because he's suddenly been revealed as a little bit of a hoarder or perhaps it's because Iruka really, _really_ likes his mugs. Either way, he can't help but feel that Kakashi sees him in a whole new light. And he's still not figured out what that light is.

(Mizuki had always complained about the space. Demanded Iruka throw everything out. When things had happened, when he was gone… well, it's his own apartment. He'll keep what he damn well likes) 

"Students give me them so they're _important_ and-"

"You're amazing," cutting him off, Kakashi says in actual, _genuine_ awe. Prickling at first, instantly jumping to the conclusion that Kakashi is mocking him, he quietens at the expression on Kakashi's singular eye.

"You kept them all? _All_ of these mugs?" He gestures to the shelves behind him, pointing to the large group of dolphin themed mugs all stacked next to one another. 

"Uh, well, yeah. They're gifts. I keep everything that my students give me."

It's then that Kakashi peers around the room and Iruka feels suddenly like this was a bad idea. He's already aware that most shinobi don't have a lot of personal effects. In fact, it's considered a bad thing to be sentimental in this career - the typical ninja apartment tends to be impersonal and bare. Not his, though. No. Not at all.

His fridge is covered from head to toe in all matters of drawings of all various skill levels, decorated with an assortment of colourful alphabet magnets (it appears somebody's been by today - probably Genma stealing his milk again, Iruka should have never given him a key - and left the wonderful message of 'cok and ballz') and a few of Naruto's shorter letters. There's a collection of homemade decorations on his kitchen windowsill, ranging from lumpy looking vases to weirdly shaped animals. There are photos hung on every available wall space, ones of each and every class Iruka has taught over the years, countless of him and Naruto together and a few of him and his friends. He has a collection of poorly watered succulents, piles of books littered around haphazardly, two boxes of red pens, and he's not even counting the ridiculous amount of dolphin themed memorabilia (including his goddamn _kettle_ , he should have never trusted Asuma to get him one) that is just _everywhere_. 

This isn't even the worst of it. The kitchen is the least cluttered room in the entire apartment, aside from the bathroom. 

Kakashi just levels him with that same awed expression before he eventually comes to himself, attention returning to the mountain of mugs before him. As if surveying a particularly difficult shogi match, Kakashi spends far too long looking at one mug from the next, seemingly intent on finding the perfect one. Finally, after what feels like an age, he makes his decision. 

One of them is from an Inuzuka student, covered in a myriad of paw prints. The other is one that Anko painted for him a few years ago. He almost chokes on his spit when he realises which mug it is. Anko, ever the budding artist, had painstakingly painted a disturbingly realistic rendition of a snake-penis hybrid. A long, veiny cock, complete with fleshy-looking scales, a pair of eyes and a forked tongue. 

Iruka fucking hates his friends. 

"I presume not all of these are from your students?"

He tries not to bury his head in his hands, instead falling to the ever nervous gesture of furiously rubbing at the scar on his nose. He's going to strangle Anko with one of her goddamn snakes. (hopefully of the non-penis variety) 

"No! That's from Anko."

"Ah. Yeah. That makes sense."

He laughs because the only other thing he can think to do is cry, because _wow_ he should move that mug into the pits of hell where it belongs. But Kakashi seems intent on picking it, even looking at the base, ( _Happy Birthday Iruka,_ printed on it in a shaky scrawl) as he dithers around for something else to do.

It isn't long, however, until the kettle begins to whistle and Iruka's making tea - chamomile for himself and green for Kakashi - and the embarrassment is soon forgotten. Instead, it's replaced by repulsion when Kakashi observes the yellow-green tint of his tea, stirring around the teabag with a delicate sort of grace, and asks "do you have any milk?"

Iruka blinks.

"That's green tea." He says, feeling as if that should explain everything.

Kakashi tilts his head, smiles.

"Yes, it is. Do you have any milk?" 

"I- you don't- that's _green tea._ You don't put _milk_ in _green tea!_ " 

"Why not?"

Iruka's not been this angry in _ages._ Not even when Aoba had handed him a mission report covered in bird shit and then had the gall to look _surprised_ when Iruka gave (threw) it back at him. Kakashi looks like he's trying very hard to not burst out into laughter.

"Why not?" Iruka parrots. " _Why not?_ " Almost imperceptibly, Kakashi pales.

"That's disgusting. It's an insult to the good name of tea, in fact, the Sandaime is up there somewhere-" he gestures wildly, pointing vaguely above, "-and he's _furious._ Actually, he's not even angry, he's just disappointed. Disappointed in you and your garbage taste. I thought liking _Icha Icha_ was bad but this-"

The sound of the fridge opening stops Iruka straight in his tracks.

Without even a glimpse of remorse, Kakashi grabs a carton of milk, unscrews the cap and pours it, unflinching, into his poor green tea. The drink goes from a soothing, earthy green to a gross sort of pale yellow monstrosity. Looking down at his own cup of chamomile, steaming hot and sweetened with a teaspoon of honey, Iruka silently apologises to its fallen brethren. A perfectly good cup of tea, _ruined._

"It's _good,_ " Kakashi insists, pointing at his concoction as if it doesn't look like some weird forbidden puss-juice. Iruka quirks a disbelieving brow.

"Of course it is."

"It _is._ You should be more adventurous, sensei. Don't knock something until you try it."

Dubiously, Iruka looks down at the snake-penis mug, and that seems to be the breaking point. Kakashi sniggers, mumbles something about _the look on your face_ between muffled laughter and it isn't long before Iruka finds himself joining in too, even if he sort of wants to grab that disgusting tea and pour it down the sink where it belongs.

Drawing Kakashi into the living space, pausing momentarily as his shitty lights take a few seconds to flicker on, (he _really_ needs new bulbs) he wishes he'd thought to tidy up a bit earlier. Of course, he hadn't planned on inviting Kakashi around; but still…

It's not that his apartment is _dirty,_ in fact; Iruka's pretty neat and organised, in a chaotic sort of way. No, the problem is that, despite his place being spick and span, it is absolutely _full_ of crap. No matter what it is, no matter how small and shitty, if somebody gives Iruka a gift, he will keep the damn thing until it falls to pieces. Even after that, he might still keep the broken remains. He just… his parents' things are all he has left of them, aside from the washed-out memories that never quite stick and the whisper of their voices in fog-ridden dreams. So he keeps the things he is given, keeps them as permanent reminders of the people who've been in his life; just so he never forgets. 

And Naruto too seems to have taken after him; which makes Iruka choke up because _gods_ he loves that boy _,_ but it certainly doesn't do their apartment any favours. 

"Oh wow. More mugs." 

Even if most of those things tend to come in mug form. 

"How many do you even have?"

Iruka pauses, thinks about it for a moment. He's been teaching for over five years now and even with Mizuki - who'd demanded all this 'useless garbage' (as he'd called it) be thrown out - he'd still managed to keep ahold of most of it. For a moment, he entertains counting, but he's quick to realise that some things are just impossible. 

"You really don't want to know. Too many, probably."

Kakashi hums in response, his disgusting tea carefully placed on the coffee table (he even uses a coaster, despite the fact that the old thing is covered in water stains) and focuses his attention on snooping about Iruka's living space. In particular, the mountains of books Iruka has completely dominating one wall. He looks at it for about all of three seconds before he physically lights up, silver hair perking up like a dog's ears as he _skips_ over to the bookshelf. 

"My my, sensei, I didn't know you were a connoisseur of the arts too,"

_Of course_ Kakashi seems to have the ability to sniff out an _Icha Icha_ book in a 50-mile radius. He's found his goddamn box set, (limited edition, too) the one Izumo had given him as a gag gift - or, well, more of a hate present; since he'd grown sick of listening to Iruka complain about (ironically) a certain pervy jonin sensei's poor taste in literature for two weeks straight. 

"A friend got them me." Instantly on the defensive, Iruka makes a mental note to maim Izumo the first chance he gets.

"That's what they all say."

"...shut up and drink your tea."

"My lovely, delicious, milky green tea? Gladly." 

If looks could kill, Kakashi would be long gone by now. Iruka glares harder.

"...yes sensei," 

His head cowed, hang-dog expression ruined by the glint in his eye, he turns his gaze to the rest of the bookcase. It's nothing too interesting really, the _Icha Icha_ limited edition box set is about as exciting as it gets. A few fiction books here and there - mostly civilian mystery novels because Iruka's always had a soft spot for that sort of thing, but primarily it's various collections of books and scrolls on sealing. Some of them salvaged from his family home, some memoirs from the late Sandaime and some that Iruka collects now as an adult. Kakashi doesn't say anything, but his interest is obviously piqued. It's only natural, he supposes, fuuinjutsu is one of Konoha's less specialised areas and it's pretty rare to find anybody at all who knows what they're doing with them - something Iruka had figured out pretty early on when his jonin-sensei didn't quite know what to do with the prankster-kid who made his own brand of barrier seals. He'd had to learn most of it himself, but he'd like to think he's pretty good.

Relaxing on the floor in a huff, cup of chamomile tea (milk-free, because he's not a goddamn heathen) balanced precariously on one of his legs and a massive pile of marking sat in front of him, Iruka ignores the guilt of being an awful host (not that he'd promised an entertaining evening, anyway) and readies himself for a few hours of poorly written anecdotes on Konoha history. 

Every day he thanks the gods that this particular class is full of students from civilian or small-clan backgrounds. Ironically, it's kids from those backgrounds that tend to have a better understanding of the world around them; Haruno Sakura had certainly known much more about Konoha's history than any of the Hyuuga cared to. Really, there's nothing worse than a class full of big-shot clans whose parents have drilled into them that the only thing that matters is fighting. (Thank God he doesn't have any more Hyuuga students this year. The children were fine but the _parents-_ Iruka hadn't appreciated them questioning his teaching abilities, not one bit)

The sofa dips behind him, a breath of warm suddenly seeping into Iruka's skin. Kakashi sprawls out on the expanse, a book (one of Naruto's comic books, Iruka notes with amusement) held loosely between two fingers. 

He settles down, old sofa creaking ever so slightly as he gets comfortable, and the two of them dissolve into a comfortable sort of silence that has Iruka missing Naruto so much it hurts. Craning his neck around, he looks up at Kakashi.

Or, more accurately, he looks at Kakashi's bare face. 

He's sipping on his tea, the horrible milk disaster, but Iruka's not focused on that at all. Instead, he squeaks out an apology, averting his gaze to the floor and tries to erase the memory of Kakashi's _very attractive face_ that has engraved itself into his eyelids.

"It's fine," Kakashi says, voice soft and smooth. "I trust you."

Heart warm, Iruka takes another look. A long one this time, drinks in the sight before him and his mind sort of implodes. _Fuck. He's hot. Like, really hot. Insanely hot. Shit shit shit,_ with that running commentary in his head, he hopes the blush on his cheeks isn't too obvious. 

It's an honest, genuine thing. A sweet, subtle sort of gesture that Iruka appreciates more than he can verbalise.

So he smiles up at Kakashi, teeth and all until his vision dims when his eyes crinkle shut, and it grows impossibly larger when Kakashi flushes in response. This time, with the mask gone, Iruka can see just how far it spreads, across the very tips of his nose and down the soft edge of his cheekbones, eventually disappearing at the line between his jaw and neck.

Before Iruka can think too hard about the pleasant hue of Kakashi's cheeks or the way his lips are a little dry and chapped when they curl up into a smile, or the little mole beneath his mouth that shifts with the movement, he draws himself back into his marking.

As much as his heart wants it, he knows deep down that he's really not ready for all these feelings just yet. And he certainly doesn't want Kakashi to think he's only making advances because of his appearance. It's definitely a lot more than that, and he wants to make sure that's clear, that he knows just how much Iruka appreciates him - _all_ of him, not just his face. 

Soon, perhaps, but not tonight. _Slow and steady,_ he reminds himself and decides that he should just enjoy Kakashi's company - not get all bogged down with the fluttering in his chest and the heat in his cheeks. Any more rumination and he'll just stress himself out, bog down with all the little details and doubts that are steadily growing quieter but still plague him every so often.

Besides, marking waits for no man and Iruka has a fuckton of it. 

The next hour passes in relative silence - only broken when Iruka snorts at the particularly bizarre 'facts' some of his more creative students have obviously made up on the fly. Kakashi is particularly taken with the student who's convinced Madara and Tobirama were jilted lovers and, honestly, they're probably right. _Technically,_ Iruka has to mark them down, considering they've gone completely off-topic, but it's actually pretty well written and - to Kakashi's amusement - he gets out one of the highly coveted gold-star stickers.

("Do I get a gold star, sensei?" He'd asked and Iruka had looked up at him with a grin. "Write me a good mission report and I'll _consider_ it.")

Eventually though, his shoulders grow uncomfortably stiff and the scar tissue marring spine begins to ache anew. If he sits like this much longer, it'll be a bitch to deal with tomorrow. Already, as he experimentally stretches and shifts, the mobility in his arms is a little limited. Not for the first time, he makes a note to visit a hot spring soon.

Sighing long and deep, as if he can exhale the tension out of him, he raises arms above his head, stretches until he feels his spine pop and crack, and then carefully hauls himself to a stand. swallowing down the dregs of his now cold tea, he flops down onto the sofa, the natural dip of the cushions slotting him far closer to Kakashi than he intended. Fighting a yawn, he turns to the other. 

"Thanks for coming round. I know I'm not being the best of hosts, but I appreciate you being here. Even if it hasn't been very interesting for you." He leans just a little bit into Kakashi's personal space, slow enough that he could pull away if so wished. He doesn't though, instead Kakashi leans closer in response, close enough that their shoulders rest only a hair-breadths away. He's a little cool, temperature always running lower than Iruka's natural furnace-like heat, but it's pleasant. _Nice._ Snuggling down into the sofa, pulling a vibrant orange cushion to his chest, he tips his head back. Kakashi, when he glances over, is staring at his neck intently; cheeks flushed and flustered.

"Naruto used to try and help me mark, sometimes. Although he could never tell what was right or wrong, but I always put him on sticker duty." he says with a fond, soft laugh. Naruto wasn't _stupid,_ like so many people presumed, but he most certainly wasn't book smart. His history knowledge especially was _appalling_ but Iruka kind of misses marking his essays - as atrociously incorrect as they were. It had always been a joy to see just how Naruto tried to make the most bullshit things sound like the truth. A skill that has passed on into his post-mission brags.

"He came round here a lot?" interest pierces through Kakashi's voice, although the question is a little strange to Iruka. It had been so normal to have Naruto as an almost constant presence by his side, he'd sort of forgotten that other people didn't realise just how close the two of them had been. Sure, everybody knew the two of them ate together constantly; Iruka had made a name for himself _because_ of his closeness with Naruto, (He still remembers the glares and complaints sent his way, all from the time spent with one small, _innocent_ child) but many underestimate just how close their bond runs. Naruto is a lot more than a student to him; a lot more than a Friday evening and a much lighter wallet.

"Huh? Oh, well, he lives here. Or lived here, I guess." Correcting himself, he doesn't quite manage to hide his wince.

"What?" Kakashi looks surprised at that, one silver eyebrow raised and his lips contorted in a tight, pinched sort of way.

"He lives here," Iruka says again, (he won't say _lived._ Even if Naruto isn't here, this will always be his home for as long as he wants it to be) and Kakashi's eyes widen a little, something thoughtful flickering over his face as if he's figuring something out. Like slotting pieces of a puzzle together. Iruka continues, "Moved in with me a few years back. That's his room, the one over there." He gestures to one of the doors - slightly dented and chipped with orange paint, covered head to toe with all matters of stickers and torn posters and photographs. 

Kakashi looks at it for a moment, creases dug between his brow.

"That's… not on his file."

"Er, it's not really official. He still has his own apartment, although he doesn't really use it very often."

Scratching at the bridge of his nose, smoothing the pads of his fingers over the uneven rise of his scar, Iruka feels a little bit like he's being interrogated. Kakashi's obviously putting the pieces together - probably reevaluating the dire conditions of Naruto's old apartment, (Seriously, the fact that such a shithole was deemed a place for _anybody_ to live, let alone a _child_ was far beyond Iruka's comprehension) as well as the ridiculous amount of clutter in Iruka's apartment. As in, it's still a lot of clutter, but suddenly the mass of orange things make a lot more sense.

"Why doesn't he just move in?"

Embarrassed, put on the spot, Iruka rubs at his scar harder. It's a question he's thought about for years now, one he still hasn't worked up the courage to approach.

"Well… I wouldn't want to presume, or force him to move in with me. I- I don't want to be too overbearing, or too… _fatherly,_ I guess. I don't have any right to fill that role and I don't want to pressure Naruto into thinking he doesn't have a choice…"

Kakashi laughs. Not an unpleasant sort of laugh, but one that has Iruka prickling slightly at the edges.

"What?" Irritation seeps through his voice, his fingers trembling ever so slightly against the deepest part of his scar, right where it carves into the bridge of his nose.

"Sorry! Sorry!" raising his hands in surrender, Kakashi continues to chuckle to himself. "It's just what you're saying, it's unbelievable." He shakes his head, smiling at Iruka. "Naruto already thinks of you like family."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Iruka does something weird and awkward and embarrassing with his hands - something that involves a lot of random flapping and flailing, whilst he simultaneously tries to swallow past the fond lump that's suddenly blocking up his throat. 

" _Seriously,_ he almost never stops talking about you. That kid loves you so much and you do him a disservice to think that he _wouldn't_ want you in his life."

"I-" _God_ , he's already starting to tear up. Clearing his throat, he attempts to save some grace but to no avail. The lump in his throat is a stubborn bastard and no matter how hard he swallows the urge to cry will not go away. His eyes are burning, eyelashes working overtime to blink back the tears that threaten to spill. 

"He- I love him. _So much._ Naruto is- he's... ugh, this is stupid," wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands (because goddamnit he's always been an easy crier but this is ridiculous) the two years with Naruto gone suddenly feels like an eternity. 

"I miss him so much. Even if I _know_ he had to leave, I can't help but worry about him. He's... "

"It's not stupid," Kakashi says, voice surprisingly gentle. Carefully, as if handling something beautiful and delicate and fragile, he takes Iruka's hands in his own. Tugging them away from his tearstained eyes, Kakashi looks down at them. Flexes his fingers, so pale and wiry compared to Iruka's dark and stockier ones. They look nice against his own, though. He likes the sight of it, likes the feel of Kakashi's fingernails carefully scratching over the uneven scars on his knuckles.

"He misses you too. You can see it, feel how much he misses you in all those letters."

Squeezing Iruka's hands in his, the skin cool and roughened with scars and callouses, Kakashi looks at him like he's something _amazing._

"You two have an irreplaceable bond. You're his _father_. The person he looks up to most."

_Fuck_ , Iruka really is going to start crying now. He really misses that kid. Misses him beyond belief, so much it hurts. And that's it. He might tell himself Naruto is like a little brother, just because it makes him feel a little less old, but he practically raised Naruto when the only thing he got was a shithole apartment and the occasional envelope of funds from the Hokage. (Which wasn't good enough. How does anyone expect a _child_ to know how to budget?) The fact that Kakashi can see it, that Kakashi understands just how much Naruto means to him, makes something like sunlight dance in Iruka's stomach.

"I…" Sniffling, he ever so carefully leans against Kakashi. When the other doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away, he grows bolder. He lets his head rest in the crook of Kakashi's shoulder, tries not to think about Naruto too much because he will cry more. 

"You have a lot of people who love you," It's said offhandedly but there's a little something in Kakashi's tone that rests poignant and heavy, His gaze is fixated on Iruka's memory cabinet, drinking in all the collections of knick-knacks and gifts scattered around; each one of them the containers of fond memories of people long gone and those most precious to him.

"Yeah," he hums, eyes catching on the old packet of cigarettes Asuma had gotten him as a gag gift when he turned eighteen. (He'd smoked one, almost coughed up his lungs and decided the health risks really weren't worth the nicotine kick) "I am a bit of a hoarder, though."

Huffing out a laugh, one of Kakashi's hands absently rises to his ponytail, tugging at the very ends. Embarrassingly, he shivers at the contact, slips closer against the other; cool and pleasant and comfortable.

"A bit," Kakashi concedes after a short moment, yet another stack of mugs catching his eye, "but it's nice. Shows people that you care."

"I'm lucky I have so many people who care about me," Iruka says, tilting his head back, eyes on Kakashi. At first, he doesn't notice the change, still focused on the cabinet, but when he eventually looks down at Iruka, the breath audibly catches in his throat.

"Not lucky," he says, slowly. Grey hair falls over his one eye, nose scrunched ever so slightly.

"You're easy to love, Iruka. It's no wonder so many people do." 

Without the mask, the expression is so… intense. Almost consuming in the way that one grey eye swoops over him, the sharp curve of his nose and the kind tilt to his lips. Just a peek of white teeth are visible and when he smiles, the front two are ever so slightly crooked. 

Without even realising he's doing it, Iruka finds himself slowly drifting towards those lips. Hand dropping away from his scar, resting at his side instead where he nervously rubs his fingers together, Kakashi looms closer and closer.

A flash of pink tongue darts out, Kakashi's lips glistening with a thin sheen of saliva. They move closer, close enough that Iruka can see the faintest trace of freckles dotting Kakashi's cheeks. Barely there, just a pitch darker than his natural skin tone. He wonders if they'll get darker in the summer, if they'll speckle Kakashi's skin like an array of constellations. His fingers twitch, he wants to touch them, trace his finger over them and connect them like stars.

Kakashi's eye flickers down to his lips, the briefest movement that has Iruka choking on an inhale.

They lean closer. Closer, closer still, close enough that there's warm breath dusting Iruka's cheeks that smells faintly of mint and tea. So close that he can see flecks of dusty blue in Kakashi's eyes, see how the outer ring is a charcoal grey that fades into something of storm clouds and winter fog. And then, as if burned, Kakashi leaps backwards.

The moment is broken, shattered. Iruka retreats too, hands flying to rub at his scar, rub at his cheeks as if he can wipe off the red that stains them. 

Kakashi is glassy-eyed, skin flushed so dark it's almost purple, and the colour burns across his flesh in splotches; neon bright on the very tips of his ears. He looks guilty, too, and Iruka doesn't miss the way his eyes are pulled towards the memory cabinet, how his gaze seems to get stuck on the shattered photograph of Mizuki. 

"God, I'm sorry Iruka. I shouldn't have- sorry."

Once again, they're back here. Apologising. Unsure, uncertain; fearful of moving beyond what they have but not quite satisfied with things as they are now. They both know it at this point, understand the tension that flitters between them. And yet...

Maybe Iruka should end that trend. He should speak up now. Tell Kakashi he shouldn't be sorry, tell Kakashi he wants nothing more than to feel the other's lips against his own, to tangle his fingers in that unruly silver hair and feel if it's soft and fluffy or coarse and wiry. There's never been a better time than now. The stars have aligned, the moment is perfect, all he has to do is open his mouth.

The words get stuck in his throat, though. No matter how much he wants to say them, there's something holding him back. Something that he's not quite ready for. 

Instead, he lets the silence consume, too dumbfounded to do anything other than watch as Kakashi mumbles out more hurried apologies, flails around for his mask and exits the apartment at such a speed that Iruka could be convinced that he's the Yondaime back from the dead. 

He watches him go, listens to the door slam shut and stares at his photo-covered walls with only the _tick tick tick_ of the clock as company.

x

That evening, as dusk drags on into the depths of night, Iruka makes a decision. There's a box at the back of his wardrobe, heavy and fit to burst, seams torn and effects poking through.

It's full, closed but not sealed. _Mizuki_ is written on the side in a rushed, scrawling font. 

He grabs it, slides it out from beneath a lump of folded clothes, fingers shaking as he pulls back the corners, trying not to look too closely at the old hitai-ate or clothes that Iruka (once upon a time) used to steal. 

The little things he has of Mizuki, the old memories that he never quite had the heart to get rid of. They're all there, stacked up neatly as if waiting for their owner to return.

He carries it to the living space, drops it onto the sofa with a _thunk_ as he searches for the rest. Three books, Mizuki's favourite mug, other bits and bobs that have hidden between the cracks for far too long. One by one, they all go into the box.

All except one thing.

The photo on his cabinet. A younger version of himself, smiling so brightly it hurts. A surly yet pleased looking Mizuki, the two of them leaning close to one another, arms wrapped around shoulders and eyes gleaming in the flare of the camera. 

The pinch of Mizuki's eyes; the cruel glare that Iruka had grown so used to in adulthood isn't there. He looks… kinder, softer. Truly happy as if, a long time ago, Mizuki had been free from the hatred that burned him from inside out. 

Taking it out of the shattered frame, careful to avoid the jagged pieces of glass, Iruka looks from between the box and the photo. His fingers curl, an urge to crumple the paper to pieces rises. Anger, betrayal, it curls around his heart like a sickness. Into the box it goes.

It's heavy as he carries it outside, filled with years and years of living, filled with crap Iruka has held on to for far too long. The photo stares up at him as he leaves his apartment, as he makes his way down to the ground floor. Mizuki smiles up at him when the cool night air hits him, when he gets closer and closer to the bins at the back.

Before he chucks it all out, he stops himself. With hands that only shake a little, he picks up that photograph, remembers so vividly the day it had been taken. 

The rest of it is dumped; dusty relics of a person long gone. Letting it go feels like a weight off his shoulders, but it's only when he returns the photo to his cabinet that he truly feels like he can breathe. 

Mizuki had hurt him. Hurt him beyond belief, and Iruka can never forgive him for that. Yet, as he finds a new frame that isn't shattered, clears out the shattered glass with hands that don't shake, he thinks he can finally forgive himself. For the first time in years, he looks at that photo and not once does he feel weak. 

That night, when he dreams of silver hair and grey eyes, he wakes up and his back doesn't hurt at all.

x

He's only slightly tipsy as he stumbles out of the bar, spirits high as the shitty paper hat Genma accosted with him earlier slips over his eyes. It's late now. Late enough that the moon glares in silver light far above, distilled by the sepia-warmth of flickering streetlights.

Summer is on its way, the night air chilled yet thick with something just a little sticky and humid, not unpleasant but heavy enough that it rests awkwardly in Iruka's lungs, feels thick and heavy against his skin. Cheeks flushed, eyes just a little glassy, he decides he might as well take the long route home.

All in all, it had been a pretty good birthday. One of the better ones. He'd never really been one for celebrating; things had been hard after the death of his parents and suddenly it hadn't seemed so important. Then when it eventually had _,_ everything with Mizuki had gone down and Iruka never really considered doing much again. It felt like a big deal over nothing, felt strange and uncomfortable to see people… _care_ so much. Mizuki had always said he was the only one, the only person who cared, who loved, who _wanted_ him and Iruka had believed that for far too long.

He's glad he came out tonight, though. Even if it wasn't entirely for himself. Everyone had seemed so happy to see him. Kotetsu and Izumo had practically dragged him to the bar, jumping on the balls of their feet as they had linked their arms in his, pulled him this way and that like a pair of stumbling drunkards. (even though they hadn't actually drunk anything yet) Upon arrival, Genma had instantly attached to his side like a limpet, one heavy arm slung over Iruka's shoulder, senbon clacking close to his ear every time he shouted (which was a lot) and every time he stuck his tongue out at Raido. (which was even more) 

Anko had bombarded him with drink after drink - even paying for the dangerously sweet cocktails that Iruka has a sort of guilty pleasure for; Kurenai had thrown handfuls of confetti at him, laughed fondly at Asuma when it had gotten all stuck in his beard and Asuma had (affectionately) blown cigarette smoke in his face, ruffled his hair until it was knotted and mangled. 

He's so fortunate to have such brilliant friends and he feels a pang of guilt for neglecting them so over the recent years. They'd only ever been patient and understanding (although some less patient than others) but Iruka still regrets the distance he'd tried to place between them. It had seemed like the natural thing to do only a short while ago; seemed the easier option to push everyone away for fear of being hurt (or hurting them) all over again. 

Now though, he's already made plans to have dinner with Asuma and Kurenai next week, fully aware that he'll be third-wheeling the entire time but it's almost a little bit sweet to see how goddamn stupid Asuma is whenever he spends more than three seconds around Kurenai. Plus, it's been a while since Iruka has gotten any good blackmail material. 

Speaking of Asuma, as he makes his way back home, taking the detour through the local park and swaying ever so slightly on his feet to the rhythmic rush of water from the nearby river; he spots a familiar silhouette painted dark against the moonlight. A cigarette butt glows bright, a beacon of burnt umber held between thick, scarred fingers.

"Asuma," he calls out with a smile. The other doesn't say anything for a short moment, only nods and takes a deep, long drag from his cigarette. Plumes of thick smoke rise like clouds from his lips, Asuma watching absently as it curls up into the sky. With a firm hand, he pats the wall space beside him, beckoning Iruka over with a flick of his head.

Sitting next to him easily, swivelling round until his feet dangle over the edge of the bridge and knocking their shoulders together in familiar camaraderie, he laughs as another drag of smoke is blown into his face. Asuma looks down at him, eyes dark and soft under grey-mist. He looks gentle, careful, relaxed in a way that many don't get to see. 

"Happy Birthday Iruka," he says and although he doesn't quite smile, there's a brightness that twinkles in the quirk of his lips, crooked with the glimpse of a cracked front tooth. (which Iruka himself had inflicted back when they were kids) 

From this angle, under the ever-magical blue-glow of moonlight, Asuma looks painstakingly like his father. He has the same nose, the same curve to his mouth and the deep-set eyes that hold a powerful sort of calm in them that Iruka painfully remembers from his younger years of mischief and terror - the Sandaime had looked at him with such fondness over years of weekly shogi matches and evenings spent drinking tea. It's comforting in a way that can't be described, to know that, even with the Sandaime long gone, his strength lives on strong in the eyes of his son. (and his grandson, who looks more and more like him with each passing day)

"You looked happy tonight. _Happier._ "

Words a little stilted, a little awkward, it would be easy for Iruka to brush it off. All he has to do is laugh, wrinkle his nose and bump his shoulder against Asuma's and this conversation would be over.

But Asuma doesn't do this sort of thing. He _never_ does this sort of thing, in fact. The last time something like this had happened had been after the Sandaime's funeral; when he and Asuma had sat in his father's old office. The two of them had stared blankly at a half-played shogi board and brewed tea that was bitter and tasted nothing like it should have. 

(It's never tasted the same. Even after all these years) 

So Iruka doesn't brush it off. He doesn't laugh. He doesn't wrinkle his nose, he doesn't bump his shoulder against Asuma's. Instead, he smiles.

"Yeah. Today was a good day." And he means it, hopes Asuma can understand just how much he means it. 

Grinning up at the other, suddenly feeling like a kid again, he tries not to get too nostalgic. He and Asuma had always been opposites of a kind, Asuma (mostly) stoic and sensible; Iruka always one to let his emotions guide him. They'd always been close though, despite their differences. Ever since Asuma had taken it upon himself to befriend the miserable little kid who'd been taken under his father's wing. At first, they'd bonded over shared pranks, (Asuma the planner and Iruka the perpetrator) bonded over breaking the rules and finding the best ways to disobey whichever authority figure was the most irritating. (It's the reason Iruka's name had been well known throughout the ranks of ANBU; even now he gets some glares from various middle-aged shinobi who's chakra feel strangely familiar)

A peaceful quiet stretches on, only broken by the occasional puff of smoke blown from Asuma's lips and - after that cigarette burns out - the _click_ of his lighter and the soft _thunk_ of a newly opened packet.

"Are you-" Asuma begins, breaking off as he sucks on his teeth, flicking the lighter with nervous fingers. He looks a little uncomfortable, a little uncertain, but as his eyes flicker between the smouldering end of his cigarette and Iruka sat close beside him, he seems to come to a decision. "Are you okay?" Voice gruff, more steady and certain, a softness somehow manages to break its way through. 

It's something they'd never really spoken about after it had happened. Asuma had been the one to take Iruka home from the hospital, said nothing as Iruka had leaned on his side and hobbled all the way; hiding laboured breathing and pained winces as an apprehensive and nervous Naruto had snapped at their heels.

He'd said nothing when he'd sat Iruka down, cleaned out the remnants of Iruka's fridge and replaced it with fresh groceries. Said nothing as Naruto had fretted around him, only frowning when Iruka had smiled, brittle and fake, and kissed the boy's forehead over and over; trying desperately to dispel his worries. He'd been there to pick up the pieces but if anything had been clear with Asuma, it was that _feelings_ were not spoken about.

Much like his disappearing act with the Twelve Guardian Ninja, or his ever-collapsing relationship with his father, (when he had still been alive) it was a rule that they didn't talk about it. They would be there for each other, sure. Iruka would put up with the frankly obscene amount of smoking and Asuma would pat him awkwardly on the back every time he cried. It was a mutual understanding. A sort of _I'm here for you, but we're not doing this whole 'feelings' shit._

It's in moments like these, right here right now, where Iruka realises just how good Kurenai is for Asuma. 

"Yeah. I'm good," Iruka says and, for the first time since that fuma shuriken embedded itself in his spine, he means it. He _is_ good. He's never been better. He thinks of Mizuki, thinks of what happens, and he feels… fine. He's certain it will ebb and flow; that the doubts will return every so often, but right now he feels like he can handle it. 

(Right now, he's realising that he doesn't have to handle it alone)

"That Mizuki was a right bastard." Coarse and blunt as always, Asuma continues. He's clearly a little uncomfortable, clearly not quite sure how to say what he wants to say, but Iruka huffs in laughter. He quietens, however, when Asuma shoots him a pointed look. Tapping his cigarette even after the buildup of ash has long gone, he clears his throat.

"...I'm sorry none of us realised. He was… there was always something _off_ about him, when he was around us, and he was _weird_ about you. Overprotective, he'd tell us to stay away, to leave you alone and we did. I- we weren't there for you."

It's the most they've ever said about Mizuki in years. The most that's been said since Mizuki moved in with Iruka; since meetings with friends had happened less and less and Iruka never understood _why_ people seemed to be keeping their distance.

"It's not your job to look out for me. I should have known better. All the signs were there, I just… chose to ignore them." 

"It _is_ my job, though." He smiles, a proper one this time. One that's crooked and wide, with squinted eyes and scrunched cheeks. "What else are big brothers for?"

Iruka's breath catches in his throat. For as long as Iruka has known him, he'd always thought of Asuma as his elder brother. As a child, he had seemed so… _cool._ Iruka had trailed after him like a lost puppy, cheering from the sidelines when Asuma first mastered his wind affinity and pouting when Asuma, yet again, beat him in one of their taijutsu matches. 

But they'd never said it before. For as much as Iruka had known, had _felt_ like Asuma was family, the two of them had never actually _said_ it to one another. They'd just intrinsically understood one another. Iruka had been young, Asuma had seemed so cool and things had happened from there. Hiruzen had looked on at them fondly, ruffled Iruka's hair just like he did Asuma's, and the two of them had spent much of their childhoods inseparable. 

He smiles up at Asuma, lets the other wrap a heavy arm around his shoulder and leans into the embrace; tries not to tear up when cigarette smoke gets in his eyes. There's a question that's been on his mind for a while, though. One he'd never quite worked up the courage to ask, but Iruka's been learning to step outside his comfort zones. 

"You're happy with Kurenai, right?"

Promptly, Asuma chokes on his cigarette. 

"W-what? Why would you say that? We're- I'm- we're just _friends-"_

"Asuma…"

In a plume of smoke, the fight goes out of him. Cheeks still painted a vivid red (so bright that it's visible even in the oncoming night) and voice a little hoarse from all the smoke he'd just attempted to swallow, Asuma chews on his lower lip.

"Yeah," he eventually manages to mumble, quiet but honest. "I didn't think I could ever be this happy, to be honest. But she's… she's _amazing,_ Iruka. She's smart and strong, she says the _funniest_ things and even the 'bad' things about her-' he rolls his eyes, making quotations with his fingers, "-just make her even more beautiful. I… yeah, just… _yeah."_

Growing embarrassed, Iruka tries not to laugh at the sight of _Asuma_ , the gruff, stoic, intimidating ninja who also happens to be a member of one of Konoha's most prestigious clans, squirming on his ass like a pre-genin who needs a piss. It's just a little bit endearing and entirely bizarre to see Asuma like this, looking so goddamn _lovesick_ it's honestly a little revolting. Sweet too, though. Sugary, sickly, but ever so sweet.

"Is it not…" Iruka pauses, struggling to think of the right words. " _scary_? To feel like that for somebody."

The look Asuma shoots him is entirely too knowing and Iruka wills away the blush that threatens to rise. 

"A little bit," Asuma admits, just a little reluctantly, "but it's worth it. I was _terrified_ when I first asked her out. Thought I was going to die, or I was going to cough up my lungs, or she would laugh at me and say no and then I'd have to go missing-nin to get away from the embarrassment." His expression darkens. "It's still scary. We're both ninja, _jonin_ , our schedules rarely align and it's hard to think that one day she could leave and never come back…" 

He looks at Iruka then. _Really_ looks at him.

"It's worth it, though. Worth all of it. No matter what happens, I could never regret loving her."

And then, cracking a shit-eating grin, the moment ends. Eyes twinkling, Asuma chokes out through a snigger, 

"Am I going to have to give Kakashi the 'big brother talk'"

"Don't you _dare_!" Iruka hisses, punctuating his words with a punch in the shoulder.

They laugh, voices rising under the swell of moonlight, their legs swinging lackadaisically over the water's surface. Asuma pauses to light yet another cigarette, but before he flicks open the lighter he freezes. For a moment, he stares down at it, fighting some internal battle. 

He puts it back. Waits, looks at Iruka as if he already knows what he's going to ask.

"Do you think it's too soon, though?" Eventually, he gets it out and Asuma heaves a sigh. 

"I dunno. Does he make you happy?" 

Iruka nods. 

"Then that's all there is to it."

Iruka opens his mouth, the words _it's not that easy_ sitting on the tip of his tongue. Asuma shakes his head, quirks his brow.

"You're careful, cautious. That's a good thing, but don't let the things that make you happy slip away." He pulls Iruka closer, tightens his hold. "You deserve good things and… Kakashi's good. A little weird, sure; but- he'll kill me for this, but he really likes you. And you've been so much happier recently, everybody's been able to see it," he clenches his teeth, squinting a little as he tries to find the right words.

"What I'm trying to say is… don't rush into things if you're not ready, but tell him how you feel. I'm- fuck, I'm not good at this stuff; but he gets it, you know? He'll stick around for as long as you'll have him but… you should let him know you _want_ him to stick around, if that makes sense."

Sighing, fingers twitching for yet another cigarette, he knocks their shoulders together.

"You've been looking after everybody for _years,_ Iruka. You should let people look after you too."

And then, with a fondness in his eyes, Asuma swings himself off of the wall. Stretching as he stands, he reaches out with a dark hand. Ruffling Iruka's hair, mussing up the strands of his ponytail until the hair tie hangs loose, he digs his knuckles into the top of Iruka's forehead.

"Happy birthday, little brother," he says. "I'll see you around, yeah?" 

He pauses, dithers for a moment before ironing out his face. Quick as lightning, he wraps his arms around Iruka's shoulders, pulls him into a tight embrace. Before Iruka can even _blink_ it's over and, with a quick flurry of his hands, familiar signs shaped between his fingers, Asuma disappears in a swirl of leaves.

Left to his own devices, Iruka tilts his head towards the night sky. The moon is almost full, just a slither of silver chopped off and replaced with inky night. 

He wonders if Naruto is still awake. If he's looking up at the same sky, gazing up at the same stars. 

Asuma's words warm in the pit of his stomach, he makes a slow journey home. He's never been one for celebrating his birthday but maybe, just for this year, he can make an exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revealing myself as an Asuma simp because I love this man so much- I wish more people depicted him and Iruka as brothers; I just think they're neat. 
> 
> Kakashi putting milk in his green tea is 100% me just,,, projecting onto my favourite characters. Even if the world tells me I'm wrong, I stand by it. It's really good. Iruka's horror at this is inspired by every time I drink green tea and somebody feels the need to tell me what a sin I'm committing. (also me drinking milky green tea whilst editing this)


	7. Letter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this later than I'd like but,,, it's here!
> 
> The scene at hokage mountain here is honestly my favourite thing I've written. I really, really love that scene (also it was a blessing to be able to talk about scenery because that's what I'm best at lmao) so I hope you guys do too! 
> 
> Anyway, enough of me rambling, hope y'all enjoy! :)

_Heya! Guess what, Iruka-sensei! (Well, you can't really guess properly but you can stop reading here and totally try and think what my super cool news is)_

_Are you ready? You better have guessed and not read ahead! But…_

_I'm gonna be coming home soon!_

_I'm still not sure when, because pervy-sage won't tell me exactly, but he says that I'll be back before the end of this year! Which means… six months? Maybe? Which is still kind of a long time but it feels like a lot less when I know it's coming. I'm really excited to see everybody again, I bet I'm taller than Sakura now! I might even be taller than you!_

_It's weird to think that I haven't seen you in almost three years. I don't even know if you've gotten any of these letters, really._

_I hope you have. I miss you a lot._

_Sorry this letter is so short, pervy-sage is shouting at me to stop writing. He says there's no point since I'll be seeing everyone soon, but he still found time to write an entire pervy book. Which he made ME proof-read. (Which makes Kakashi-sensei even weirder because his books SUCK) He's getting really cranky now, though, so I've gotta go._

_Lots of love, Naruto_

It's the shortest distance between letters; just under a week since Naruto's last, and it marks the first time he's gotten together with Kakashi since their not-quite-almost-kiss in his apartment. Which he's spent the past week doing nothing but think about and - if the shit-eating grins he's been getting from Kotetsu and Izumo are any hint - he really hasn't been hiding it well.

Not that it really matters right now, considering Naruto's letter has wiped out the very last dregs of doubts Iruka has had. Sure, he's spent every waking moment (and even a few choice dreams) thinking about kissing Kakashi, (and a lot more) which is… something, but _Naruto's coming home,_ and that thought trumps everything else. (for now, at least)

At first, tonight had been a little awkward. Kakashi had dithered about with his hands, mumbled out some half-formed apologies and refused to make eye contact; but that had soon melted to nothing under Iruka's almost childlike excitement.

Already, he's talked Kakashi's ear off about everything and anything he can think of, regaling every single story he knows about Naruto; (which is _a lot_ ) his pranks as Iruka's student (even more) and the things he'd said and did and liked and disliked and _everything_ he'd done before he left. It's like an endless stream, a dam broken and Iruka can't shut up because he's so _excited._ Beyond excited; like a kid on a sugar rush or a dog with a bone or something else that means excited because he can't even _think_ properly; once he'd opened his mouth words just continued to… fall out. Without stopping, not even once.

After a particularly long sentence that Iruka didn't pause once throughout, his voice going high and reedy because _wow he hasn't breathed in a while_ , he's temporarily thrown off-kilter by the expression on Kakashi's face. 

His one eye is crinkled in something that isn't quite a smile, a little light glinting in the pools of his irises. It's hard to tell what he means, what he's thinking, with the mask covering the rest of his face; but the expression is… nice. There's something about it which Iruka instinctively knows is good, is fond. Kakashi looks at him like he's… he doesn't know, but certainly not like Iruka's the plain schoolteacher he'd always thought himself to be and the sight of that, the warmth in Kakashi's grey eyes, does something to his line of thought. Suddenly the intrusive thoughts of _kiss him, kiss him_ have returned with full force. 

"And Naruto…" he trails off, suddenly not sure of what he was planning to say. Instead, he squirms in his seat, smiles so wide he's kind of scared his face might snap in half, and looks at Kakashi with a giddy, dazed sort of sheen to his eyes. 

"Sorry," he laughs, scratching the very edge of his scar, swaying this way and that. He feels full of energy, something impatient and consuming and impossible to ignore. Part of him wants to run across the rooftops; feel chakra pump through his bloodstream and surge through the balls of his feet, propel him deep into the sky and through the windswept leaves of trees. "I, uh, I talk too much sometimes." Laughing, only slightly concerned that he might look a little insane, he leans towards Kakashi. Dizzy, with the news from Naruto, but also a feeling that's sticky and soft - the leftover memory from his conversation with Asuma - Iruka knows what he wants to do. 

He feels light, almost drunk in the free-weight of his body. It's from more than Naruto's letter.

Kakashi's eye widens as he leans away a little nervously, flickering from Iruka to the shrinking space between them.

"Maa, don't worry about it. I…" Iruka snags Kakashi's wrists with his fingers, feels the butterfly thrum of a pulse beneath the skin. It speeds up. "I like listening to you talk."

His face is pink, blush spreading from beneath the mask, eye crinkling into a pleasant smile. Pulling his hands away just ever so slightly, he tangles their fingers together. His palms are cool, Iruka notes, just a little clammy. 

"So…" he begins, thumbs stroking absently over the crest of Iruka's knuckles. "what were you saying about Naruto?"

Grinning, he launches into yet another story.

They eat slowly, Iruka fighting the urge to wave around his chopsticks like a madman ( _that's bad manners, 'Ruka,_ he hears his mother say, _and get your elbows off the table, and stop talking with your mouth full and-_ ) as he talks until his throat is raw and dry. It's the most he's said in a while because most people usually get bored about ten minutes in and politely redirect the conversation to keep him quiet. Which is fine, because Iruka talks _a lot_ when he feels like it. But it still sort of _hurts_ when people do that. 

(People had never listened to him after the Kyuubi attack. It had been _talk and pray somebody listens. If you shut up first, then they'll never care._ )

Kakashi doesn't stop him though. Not once. But he _listens_ , genuinely listens, even when Iruka gets off track and starts talking about literally anything his brain can come up with.

Nobody's ever really done this before. Even the Sandaime; who'd run on endless patience, would always eventually quieten Iruka with a raise of his hand or a cup of steaming tea pried into his fingers. Mizuki had never even bothered. He'd have either outright interrupted or not listened at all. 

Kakashi doesn't. 

Instead he sits there, adds in words and anecdotes of his own every so often; smiles along with Iruka when he gets particularly excited and squeezes his hands every time he gets particularly fond and sentimental.

"He's lucky to have you," he adds at one point, voice soft and careful like the lazy flow of clouds in blue-sky. 

"He's one of my most precious people," says Iruka, quietening; excitement dissipating for a moment in seriousness. "Like you." And when he grins, all teeth and wrinkled eyes, the final bit of tension between them melts away.

They leave that night, Iruka with his hands on Kakashi's wrists, dragging him between the clustered evening streets and away into the outskirts of the village. He wants to _do_ something, wants to forget all the responsibility of adulthood and just… 

"Follow me," he laughs at Kakashi's confused expression, pulls him through the streets and breaks into a run, hair falling free from its tie, down to his shoulders, tangled and messy and windswept. Kakashi's just behind him, barely clinging on to his hand, huffing out something which could be a chuckle or could be an irritated sigh. Iruka hasn't decided yet.

" _Iruka,_ " Kakashi gasps, stumbling into steps, choking on a breath.

It's clear where they're going now. Skirting around the very outsides of the village; between the beaten paths and fallen trees. The two of them trip over rocks, ninja skills temporarily forgotten and instead replaced by something raw and honest and _real_. He feels like a child again and, when he turns around to look at Kakashi, he wonders if the jonin ever did anything like this. He'd made genin so young, been sent off to wars before Iruka could even hold a kunai, maybe he'd never done anything like this before. _Friend-killer Kakashi_ probably wasn't allowed to do things like this. Iruka can't imagine a village that forced a _child_ to do the sorts of things Kakashi had really cared about the merits of a well-rounded childhood. 

He probably thinks Iruka's lost it. That he's gone insane, eventually been driven mad by pre-genin and shitty mission reports. Which is a possibility. Kakashi's reports have returned to their general awful state, which would be enough to drive even the strongest shinobi mad.

But Naruto's coming home soon, after so long away. He's not had a nightmare in weeks. With the weight on his shoulders suddenly so light; his conversation with Asuma still fresh in his mind, Iruka doesn't really care how he looks. 

"Come on," he tugs Kakashi through the dregs of daffodil stems; careful to tiptoe between the primroses and slip between the low branches of birch trees; cat-tailed with their silver-green leaves. Old blossom petals decay beneath their feet; white and pink burned into browns and umbers in the memory of spring.

They make their way up weathered stairs, carved naturally into uneven rock. Rain trickles from the sky, a light drizzle steadily growing stronger, and when Iruka's foot slips, Kakashi's hands are warm and strong on the jut of his hips. 

"Careful," he squeezes once before pushing him forwards, wrapping their hands together tightly. 

It's a fond, careful gesture. Warm when he squeezes, fingertips calloused. 

Moss lines the mountain path, dewed and glistening in the waning light. The air is crisp, dusk golden, and Iruka glows beneath it. 

From over the horizon, Konoha spreads out before them. Buildings like dollhouses; small and tiny and glinting with their little glass windows and tiny painted doors. Streetlamps glow in low embers; the day still bright but the moths will soon congregate in their sunbeam shade. Wisps of rain catch the light, technicolour fog swallowing cobble-paned streets. The Hokage Mountain is always beautiful at this time; just when twilight reaches its peak and the divide between night and day paints the world in frozen sepia. Like a gap in time itself, Iruka and Kakashi slip between the gossamer trails; feet stepping in the mud-drawn shadows of shoe soles and the upturned stones stained with remnants of blue-cloud sky. 

"What are we doing?" Kakashi asks, tilting his head up to the sky as the first few drops of rain begin to fall. Cool and sweet, dark splotches on the fabric of his mask. 

"Naruto's coming home," is all Iruka says, again and again and again, breathless and windswept and so happy it hurts. "Naruto's coming home." 

With a laugh, tears pooling in his eyes, he wraps his arms tight around Kakashi. For the briefest of moments, he stills at Iruka's touch; spine straightening and stiff as his arms rest ramrod against his sides. And then he relaxes, from iron and steel, hard and cold, to gold; warm and malleable and soft in Iruka's arms. 

He spins them around, feet clumsy under the clod dirt ground. Like a dance, clover swirls between their feet; buds of lilac grey catching on the tips of their heels. Kakashi steps on his feet, Iruka on his, and it hurts a little and it's messy and the two of them must look ridiculous, but when Iruka tips his head back and tastes rain on the tip of his tongue, he doesn't mind at all.

x

"My place is closer," in huffs of laughter, Kakashi manages to gasp out. In the span of about ten seconds, the skies themselves had opened up and torrential downpour had begun. The two of them had slipped and stumbled, Kakashi looking uncharacteristically young and carefree as he had very nearly tumbled his way into a gooseberry bush; pouting beneath his mask as Iruka had sniggered at him.

Either one of them could have teleported away, used any sort of jutsu of any sorts to protect them from rain that would just not relent. Neither did, though. It was more fun this way. 

Iruka wonders if Kakashi has ever allowed himself to be like this, to run through the streets half-crazed with rain-slick hair plastered to his forehead and clothes hanging limp and heavy on his scarecrow-limbs. He's awkward, a little stiff and solid as he lets Iruka drag him back down the mountain, and he isn't quite smiling but there's something wide and uncertain in one eye; as if he's enjoying himself but isn't quite sure why.

Bemused, too, he could be described. Perhaps he hadn't been expecting Umino Iruka; local paper-pusher, jonin-terrorizer and pre-genin-wrangler to drag him halfway across Konoha for no clear reason at all. 

It's been a while since Iruka's let himself be like this. The last time had been with Naruto; they'd raced up the mountainside and then, under the guise of training, had lobbed clumps of mud at each other just because they could. And then, just like Iruka's father had done with him years and years ago, he'd shown Naruto how to make daisy chains and the two of them had returned home decorated in constellations of daisies like stars against their skin, mud-soaked and smiling.

Kakashi's words suddenly registering, Iruka to catch his breath. Looking up with an expression of half-guilt, (somewhat marred by the glint of his eyes) he shifts hid weight from one leg to the next.

"I, uh, don't know where you live," he admits, looking at their clasped hands; their fingers pruned and ice-cold, purple-stained. 

The rain, impossibly, falls harder and, without even a hint of a warning, Kakashi pulls him close.

"You're cold," slowly, he observes. Iruka hadn't even realised it; but now that he thinks about it, his skin is pinpricked with goosebumps, the hair on the back of his arms stood on end. His teeth aren't quite chattering but it's close. 

Kakashi is even colder, he notes, fingers like ice cubes against the creases of his palms. And, if Iruka concentrates especially hard, there's the faintest trace of a shiver that Kakashi hasn't quite managed to quell. Iruka looks at him with wide eyes, hair plastered to his cheeks and lips, pink-flushed and wet, rest half-open.

Kakashi swallows once. Twice. His cheeks hollow ever so slightly, mask shifting with the movement, as if tasting a particular thread of thought. He seems to come to a decision though, for after a moment his eye curves into that trademark smile and he tugs once, semi-sharp, on Iruka's hand. 

"Come on then," he says, definitively, voice strong and clear and _confident_ in a way that has Iruka fighting down some particular intrusive thoughts, (Mostly variations of _kiss him now you moron_ ) and this time it's he who drags Iruka through Konoha's empty streets. In the depths of peripheral vision, there's a flash of curious faces peeking out from the warm confines of window. For the briefest of moments, Iruka catches the gaze of who could possibly be one of his colleagues - Ren, widely regarded as the village's best (and nosiest) gossip. With a lackadaisical wave (one Iruka has perfected from his months with Kakashi) towards maybe-Ren, who's image shifts to darkness as their eyes meet, Iruka lets himself be pulled away.

The rumour mill is going to have a field day with this. 

They're laughing as they tumble into Kakashi's apartment; Iruka pushing back clumps of rain-sodden hair, shivering as it drips down his back.

"I've never done anything like that before," Kakashi admits, shaking his head vigorously, water flying from him like a wet dog and Iruka does _not_ shriek, thank you very much.

"It's always good to try new things," 

Kakashi doesn't respond, just hums nonchalantly as he unties his hitai-ate, slipping his mask down to his chin. The not-quite-silver of his eyelashes looks gold against the red of his Sharingan and it whirs, spins wildly as he observes Iruka for a moment. Then, as if realising what he's doing, his face burns red. Without the mask hiding everything, he's almost painfully expressive. 

"Towels," is all he says before he disappears around a corner to what Iruka presumes is the bathroom.

In the newfound silence, Iruka occupies himself with observing the apartment. It's only fair, considering how Kakashi nosied around his. 

It's smaller than Iruka's own; which is a given, because Iruka's is for two people, but it _feels_ bigger. Probably because the entire place is almost barren. It's a studio; barely one and a half rooms, with a futon pushed up against the furthest corner (the duvet, to his amusement, shuriken-patterned) and a low coffee table with a half-drunk cup of milky tea, stone-cold, sat on a paw-print patterned coaster.

That's pretty much it, aside from two framed photographs. One of Team Seven, an exact copy of the one Iruka himself owns. Another of a man who can only be the late Yondaime; arms wrapped around three kids. It has to be his old team, _Rin and Obito,_ he remembers from the bare few words Kakashi has said about them; their smiles splitting their young faces, all of them unscarred and innocent. Even Kakashi, who looks sullen and uncertain, has a certain childhood charm to him that was waiting to blossom. Iruka feels his heart clench painfully. He'd barely had time to heal from the death of his father and then… 

He's glad that they did this today; that Iruka let himself be pulled into wonder and whimsy and dragged Kakashi alongside him. Even if he's cold and wet; which always makes his back ache, and even if he doesn't quite know where to go from here.

He knows what he _wants_ to do. Has known since he spoke with Asuma, since he finally let go of Mizuki's old things. He feels… ready. Knows that it might be hard, that he can't be the perfect person that he wants to be, but he's willing to try.

And even if it is hard, it's worth it. Kakashi is worth it. Worth all the effort in the world. 

Returning from the presumed-bathroom with a pair of towels in hand, Kakashi lazily chucks one his way. The fabric, upon catching, is surprisingly heavy and thick, the cotton a little scratchy against his scalp as he furiously rubs his skin dry. Trying not to flush as Kakashi watches him, he wrings out the bedraggled ends of his hair, pats it dry as much as he can and tries not to grimace at the way his clothes stick and peel from his skin.

"Here," Kakashi says, chucking a dark bundle of... _something_ his way. "Change into these before you catch a cold." His tone has that same fond lilt, a dab of worry worked in with the amusement. Iruka looks at the bundle, flushes to his very roots.

"Oh, I can't- these are your-"

"You can change in the bathroom," Kakashi interrupts, not quite hiding a smile which transforms into a smirk. Winking, his voice lowers, "I promise I won't peek." and before Iruka can even open his mouth to argue, he finds himself ushered into a tiny bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

Much like the rest of the apartment, the bathroom is plain. So plain, in fact, the only sign that anyone's even using it is the toothbrush and toothpaste by the sink and one singular smudge on the mirror. Other than that, it's clean. _Sterile_ , almost. More akin to the hospital than somebody's own home.

(Iruka thinks to the state of his own bathroom; the pile of dirty towels strewn out on the floor and the bin that needed emptying last week. This level of God-like cleanliness is nothing but a dream to him)

Taking his time to unfold the dark bundle, revealing a pair of loose trousers and two shirts (one larger than the other) Iruka regathers his thoughts.

Asuma's conversation is still in his head, it's been running on replay since they had it, and Iruka had known what he was going to do. When Naruto's next letter came, he was going to tell Kakashi. And then Naruto's next letter had come, and Iruka had planned to tell him on the mountainside. Because that seemed romantic, right? And then it had rained and now they're here. Iruka's hair is wet and his skin is blotchy, he's going to be wearing Kakashi's clothes, in his apartment. 

It's not ideal, not exactly how he'd imagined it, but Iruka smiles at his reflection in the mirror. The trousers, as he pulls them on, are a little snug and just ever so slightly too long. The shirt is also tight, (he'd instantly opted for the larger one because Kakashi is all bones and lithe muscles and Iruka is… not that) especially around his chest and biceps, but it fits well enough. Mentally, he tells himself not to smell them, because that's _weird._

(They smell like cheap detergent and wet dog, because Iruka apparently has no self-restraint)

When he leaves the bathroom, giving one last pat-down of his damp hair, he's too flustered by the idea of _wearing Kakashi's clothes_ that he completely misses said man standing right outside the door. Who he promptly walks right into. 

Although his rushed apologies are cut short when a pair of long fingers wrap around his biceps, steadying him, it's all Iruka can do to not stare too hard at Kakashi's slightly parted lips or the barest hint of pink dusting his cheeks. 

Kakashi doesn't move, his fingers tense and tighten around the hard muscle of Iruka's arms and from this distance, it's obvious to see the bobbing of his adam's apple as he swallows deeply. A dart of tongue flicks out, moistening dry lips. Iruka swears his heart stops.

"Tea," he says, still staring at Iruka's arms, the way the sleeves of the shirt are pulled tight over muscular biceps. "do you want tea?"

Iruka scrambles onto the dregs of conversation like a starved man. _Anything_ to distract him from Kakashi's dark pupils, dilated inky black, the gaze like oil on his skin. The mirror-wheel-eye lazily swirls, red-black insignia spinning as if out of control.

"If it's not too much trouble..."

Lingering for just a moment more, eyes growing impossibly darker and teeth chewing on the corner of chapped lips, Kakashi eventually draws himself away, nodding once decisively, dithering, and then repeating the gesture as if he can't quite remember what he's supposed to be doing. Shaking free of his apparent stupor, he busies himself in the small kitchen, tap running and cups clinking. Sitting himself down into the overstuffed sofa, bemused and blushing, Iruka tries not to feel too conspicuous as he waits. He'd offered to help but it had been waved off with the flick of one pale wrist and a wry smile. 

Kakashi's focused gaze, although long-gone, imprints itself into the backs of Iruka's eyelids. Every time he blinks, he sees its shadow; feels the caress of butterfly-lashes and grey-red irises; the lazy spin of the Sharingan; dangerous but mesmerising. Its memory rests in Iruka's stomach; burning heat that sets aflame, bright and all-consuming. He watches Kakashi putter about the kitchen, bizarrely domestic in a way that shouldn't feel so intimate, and feels something tight and warm unfurl in his chest.

Conversation trickles through, albeit a bit stilted and slow. The excitement from earlier, Iruka's childlike glee, has mellowed down into something more serious. 

There's the old ache in his back, the scar tissue acting up again in dull, lingering pain. Or maybe his body knows exactly what he's thinking of doing, some weird cosmic interference trying to convince Iruka that this isn't a good idea. 

Anxiety twists at the corners of his mind, fear clenching around the confines of his heart. He doesn't have to do anything, he doesn't have to say anything at all. Kakashi is good, kind, patient; even if the man doesn't see those things in himself. He's nothing like Mizuki; not at all. 

He's plagued Iruka with shitty reports, (and continues to do so) has irritated him to the point that he feared for his blood pressure. Terrorised his three students, failed a dozen of them. But he'd also risked his life to protect them, done everything in his power to save them from darkness - whether from the likes of missing-nin or the darkness in their very selves. 

It's clear as day to see just how much Kakashi cared. How much he still cares. 

Now, he's stood in his little kitchen, pouring steaming cups of tea. His shirt is long-sleeved and baggy, suspiciously green looking (it _has_ to be a present from Gai) and the sleeves billow off the crook of his wrists. His mask is nowhere to be seen, hitai-ate gone, hair still drying. It's not quite the gravity-defying feat Iruka has come to know so well; instead, it's darker. Not so much charcoal as blond; catching the artificial light of his apartment in warm hue. 

Iruka's back aches, because it always does, but he takes the mug Kakashi offers with a smile. When the other sits down beside him, he shifts ever so closer. Enough that their thighs press together, their shoulders are barely even centimetres from touching. 

Blowing on his tea, taking careful sips, (he scalds his tongue anyway) Iruka looks for the right words to say.

"I had fun today," Kakashi gets out first, mouth quirked in a shy, nervous sort of smile that makes Iruka's insides squirm. "It was… nice." He's stilted, sounding almost robotic if it weren't for the way he's sat, shoulders hunched awkwardly and fingers tapping reverently against the rim of his cup. Iruka sort of wants to laugh, but Kakashi is really close and now's the perfect time to...

"I've been thinking a lot recently." Iruka swallows deeply, tongue suddenly like lead in his mouth. It's awkward, out of place but it's a start. "About us," he clarifies. Kakashi twitches slightly. Iruka tries to remember exactly what he wanted to say. "I, um, like you a lot."

It's a lame confession if Iruka's ever heard one - and he _has_ , he teaches pre-genin for a living; his life is _full_ of awkward and shit-awful confessions. He's grown up with _Asuma_ for God's sake! Maybe this is his karmic retribution for taking the piss out of Asuma all these years. It's finally caught up with him and _wow, payback is a bitch._

"I like you too." Kakashi chokes out, just as awkwardly.

Fuck. What a pair they make. Emotional incompetence at its finest.

Iruka can't remember the last time he ever confessed his love to anyone. He _must_ have, back with Mizuki, but he can't recollect it at all. Although, in fairness, he's pretty confident in betting that Kakashi hasn't really done this before either. He's certainly not dated as an adult (the rumour mill would have eaten that up) and being a perfectly trained killer at age seven probably doesn't leave room for things like romance and dating and… this. 

At least they're trash at this together. It's sweet, after a strange sort of fashion.

"I mean, I _like_ like you."

Fucking hell. Iruka genuinely can't believe those words literally just left his mouth. _Like like._ What is he? _Five?_

"I know. I _like_ like you too."

This conversation is almost verbatim a conversation Iruka had with Anko when he was six. Only he's twenty years older and his romantic interest isn't solely based around who can climb trees the highest.

"Uh," he manages to get out, eventually, not quite sure what to say next. He feels like something should be happening. They just confessed, didn't they? Sure, they did a shit job of it but that's essentially what they did. Isn't something supposed to… happen? Embarrassingly, the one thing running through Iruka's mind is one of the few scenes he remembers from _Icha Icha._ The one where the main protagonist's scarily well-endowed breasts suddenly and miraculously fall out of her top (which, as Iruka looks ruefully down at his own flat chest, is probably not going to happen) and the will-they-won't-they couple have _very_ unrealistic sex for about six chapters straight. Which really isn't helping things, because now Iruka sort of wants to laugh and that's probably the worst thing to do when you've got two emotionally unavailable trained killers trying out the whole vulnerability thing.

Iruka's suddenly realising that the stream of one night stands he's had over the years really didn't prepare him for this and maybe, just maybe, when his colleagues had plagued him with dating advice all those months ago, _maybe_ they'd had a point. 

"I'd like to have a relationship. With you. Romantically." Kakashi says. "If that's something you'd like too." He pauses. "Sorry. I don't do stuff like this. You're the first person I've…" swallowing, he chews on his bottom lip. "I don't date." he says, finally. Then, eyes going wide, he flaps his hands. "I mean, I don't date _usually._ You're… different." Lamely, he finishes, eyes flickering towards the windows as if already halfway to planning an escape route. 

Iruka laughs softly, because Kakashi might be the only person in this world who's worse at this sort of stuff than he is, casting his mind back to what Asuma had said the other week. _He really likes you._

Kakashi noticeably pales and his eyes really begin to focus on the windowsill. His legs are coiled, like a spring, already prepared to provide a swift escape at a moment's notice. 

"It's fine," placates Iruka gently, "I'm not good at this sort of thing either. Not since… you know." Kakashi nods, opening his mouth to speak but then instantly snapping it shut. 

The unasked question hangs in the air. _Are you sure?_

"I want to do this." Iruka says, firmly. Believes it to the very root of his soul. "And I won't lie… I don't quite get what you see in me, or why you're interested in somebody like me, but-" he nervously scrubs at his nose, "-I like being around you, being _with you,_ and I'd like you to stick around. If that's what you want, of course."

The words are left to settle for a few moments. Like fog, nervous mist stirring between the two of them. It grows heavy, almost stifling, as Kakashi stares at him. 

And then, like the sun shining between storm clouds, Kakashi's face breaks into a smile. 

"For as long as you'll have me, I'll gladly be by your side."

It's corny, incredibly so. It wouldn't surprise Iruka at all if it was a line straight from _Icha Icha_. But it's _sweet_ , makes his insides do traitorous, fluttery things. Iruka laughs, nervous energy bursting within him, and grasps Kakashi's hands with his own. 

They look down at their hands. Pale, slender fingers and pink-purple scars. Tanned, broader and stockier, lighter on the palms and knuckles. Kakashi's hands are cold and clammy. They sort of feel like a dead person's, to be honest. Iruka finds he doesn't really mind. They're Kakashi's hands, after all. 

"Can I kiss you?" Kakashi asks, voice a hitch above a whisper

Iruka's eyes soften, pulling his hands away only to cup the soft curve of Kakashi's jaw. 

He breathes and finally, _finally,_ he leans in.

Kakashi's lips are chapped, rough. They taste of rainwater and summer storms; like cold wind and herbal tea. Something indescribable, both warm and cold, sweet and bitter. He breathes out, ache of his back long forgotten, and it sort of feels like home.

x

"There's one thing I've been meaning to ask," Iruka says, tracing patterns into the warm muscle of Kakashi's forearm, fingers spanning the soft lilac of his veins. In response, Kakashi grunts, a low rumble that vibrates through his chest. 

"Are you really that bad at filling out mission reports?"

Kakashi splutters out a laugh; eyes shining with mirth. 

" _Of course_ that's what you want to know," he teases, voice fond enough that Iruka can't even fake getting mad. "Honestly? I _am,_ but I might have purposefully made them worse."

" _Why?_ " Exasperated, Iruka sighs, thinking back to all those painful hours spent trying to restrain himself from strangling Konoha's top jonin. Kakashi laughs again, rubs soothing circles into the base of Iruka's neck. 

"I did it to rile you up, of course. Has anyone ever told you you're really hot when you're angry?"

"Fuck off." Iruka slaps his forearm half-heartedly, buries his face into Kakashi's chest. "I hate you. Why would you do that? Do you know how much hell your mission reports have put me through?"

"Well…" Kakashi begins, hand slipping downwards to rest ever so carefully on the dip of Iruka's spine; a careful pressure just below the thick scar tissue. "I wanted to woo you, and in Icha Icha-

Iruka chokes on his tongue, a laugh bubbling out of him that doesn't sound entirely human.

"You used _Icha Icha_ as _advice_ to… 'woo' me?"

He looks up at Kakashi, looks into embarrassed eyes and a creased brow. 

"I- er, was I not supposed to?"

Iruka levels him with a flat expression. Scratching the back of his head, Kakashi nervously smiles back.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?"

Eyes softening, Iruka brings his hands up to tangle in Kakashi's hair. Still just the slightest bit damp against his fingers, but so incredibly soft at the nape of his neck. 

"Yeah," is all he says. "eventually," 

And then they're pressed together, Iruka smiling into a kiss that tastes like sunlight.

And when he pulls back, sees silver hair and mismatched eyes, he doesn't think of Mizuki at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Icha Icha conversation right at the end was the second scene I wrote for this lmao. It sure took a while for us to get there, huh. 
> 
> Ahhh!!! This is the final chapter! There's a epilogue/bonus scene coming but this is it! Thank you to all those who have continued reading this, and especially to those who left kudos and comments! I write because I enjoy it but it's always lovely to get validation from you guys! xxxx 
> 
> And anyone who got to this point, thank you so so so so so much!!!! I hope you've enjoyed this, and I hope you'll enjoy the epilogue too <3333


	8. A Delivery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Naruto's letters were one of my favourite things to write for this whole thing so it's only natural that we had to see the kid at some point. Also I love Naruto so much I just... friend envy, y'know. I wanna be friends with him so bad asjhfsdjkgh. 
> 
> Weird to think that Shippuden!Naruto is literally my age, I kind of didn't think about That until I wrote this and I don't know how I feel about it. (he seemed so old back when I was 12 lmao) Kid literally saves the world at 17 meanwhile I just ate half a cheesecake after my 5 hour nap. Priorities, I guess. 
> 
> Regardless, this is it! Still not sure how I feel about this fic overall, it's got some scenes I'm really proud of but also a lot that I'm... not so happy with. Either way, I hope you all enjoy! x thank you so much for reading

"I get my own shelf, do I?" Kakashi hums from behind him, arms slipping around Iruka's waist, head slotting comfortably on his shoulder. After a little under six months, there's a small but steadily growing collection of things slotted onto Iruka's memory cabinet. 

A photograph, one taken at Kakashi's birthday where - with the help of one very enthusiastic Gai - Iruka had managed to somehow wrangle their group of friends together and convinced a reluctant Kakashi to actually celebrate for once. (Turning thirty was something to celebrate, after all, although when Iruka told him _if you think about it, that's halfway to sixty_ he hadn't seemed quite as pleased) 

There's the bouquet of flowers that Kakashi had given him on their first official date, a small bundle of wildflowers tied with a single strand of straw, dried in Iruka's airing cupboard for longevity. He's got _Icha Icha Violence_ there too; the copy Kakashi had specifically bought him with waggling eyebrows and a lecherous grin. ("What do you think of page 236, _sensei?"_ He'd asked) There are two mugs (because Kakashi keeps buying him more mugs, the bastard) and - of all the things - a goddamn _love letter_ that Kakashi had snuck into his desk just for him to unsuspectingly stumble across in front of a room full of far-too-observant and _very nosey_ children. (They're newest 'mission' is now apparently to figure out 'Iruka-sensei's secret admirer', which is making for some… _interesting_ questions in lessons) 

"Of course you do," easily, Iruka replies, shifting in Kakashi's arms until his grip loosens, spinning himself around until they're very nearly nose to nose. "You're one of my precious people," grin stretching wide, he laughs as Kakashi's face reddens as he ducks his head. He's still just as awkward as ever.

Iruka kisses him then, long and sweet, fingers clasping the soft fabric of his mask. Sighs as Kakashi's tugs at his hair tie, massaging the lingering strain of a long day. He steps impossibly closer, leveraging himself on Kakashi's shoulders, hands slowly drifting lower and lower and then…

The apartment door opens with a bang.

"Iruka-sensei!" A familiar-but-not-quite voice shouts out. Iruka's heart stutters in his chest. "I'm- eww! No! I didn't want to see that! Kakashi-sensei, stop… _defiling_ Iruka-sensei with your gross pervy ways! Get off him!" 

The two of them pull apart. Kakashi, quick as lightning, draws his mask back up as Iruka turning to face the boy in the doorway.

Well, he's not quite a boy now. Or not the same one that had left those three years ago, small and skinny and wild. He's taller now, voice deeper and shoulders broader. _He's sixteen,_ Iruka reminds himself. _Not the thirteen-year-old who wants to be mothered by you._

But Naruto's eyes are the same as ever, cornflower-blue-bright, open and honest and _shining_. His grin is ridiculously wide, face split as he tugs his hands through ever-unruly hair, straw-blonde strands tangling between his fingers. Beneath it all, though, he looks very much like Iruka is feeling. A little nervous, apprehensive. Not quite sure whether he's welcome. 

_He thinks of you like his father,_ Kakashi had said, and that's all it takes. 

Disentangling himself from Kakashi, blinking back the tears collecting in the corners of his eyes, he flings himself at Naruto. 

"I missed you," he repeats, over and over, tries not to cry as he buries his face in Naruto's hair, wraps his arms around the boy so tight, as if he's scared he'll disappear. Naruto stumbles for a moment, freezing for the briefest of seconds before he's returning the embrace. It's almost hard to breathe with the way Naruto squeezes the very life out of him, and there's definitely something warm and damp bleeding through the fabric of Iruka's shirt, but he doesn't say anything. Just pulls the boy closer, whispers "I'm so glad you're safe," into his hair. 

"I missed you too, sensei," Naruto mumbles back, voice a little thick and shaky from the confines of Iruka's shirt. They stay like that for a few moments, until Naruto's shoulders stop shaking and Iruka thinks he probably, _possibly_ , won't burst into tears. 

When they pull back, Naruto's eyes are rimmed red and Iruka cries anyway. With one hand scrubbing at tear-stained eyes (Naruto mirroring him exactly) and the other planted on the boy's shoulders, Iruka presses a kiss against his forehead. 

In his peripheral vision, Iruka can see the way Kakashi is not quite looking at them, averted ever so slightly to give the two of them some privacy. The gesture is small, almost insignificant, but Iruka appreciates it in more than words can say.

"I love you, Naruto," he says, not even bothering to hide the trail of tears down his cheeks, salt-stained and shining. "Welcome home." 

"Y-you're a sap, Iruka-sensei," Naruto mumbles, doing a bad job of hiding his teary smile when Iruka presses another kiss to his forehead. His teeth are bright, cheeks ruddy. "I love you too," he whispers, giving Kakashi a quick look before bowling Iruka over in yet another fierce hug. 

With a _whump_ and an exhale of air, Iruka lands right on his ass. He laughs, though; laughs with Naruto and holds him close as he talks a mile a minute about all his adventures. A pale hand is placed on his shoulder, heavy and slightly cool to the touch, another one ruffling Naruto's hair. Kakashi stands above them, mask hitched a little wonkily and hair still a little dishevelled. Upon noticing him, Naruto stills. Pulls himself back, crouches on the tips of his toes as he rubs a little at his eyes.

"Are you two… _dating?_ " Naruto says the word like it's a disease, looking between the two of them with squinting eyes. Kakashi nods, one eye curved into a smile and Iruka, just a tad shy, smiles back. 

"Ugh. Pervy-sage was right. But…" Naruto trails off, pointing an accusing finger at Kakashi. "You better treat Iruka-sensei right! You're basically, like, dating my _dad_ so-" he cuts himself off, slapping a hand over his mouth. The sound echoes in the rise of silence. Stealing a nervous glance at Iruka, Naruto looks _terrified._

_Fuck_. Iruka's crying again. And he's pulling Naruto close, pressing yet _another_ kiss to his forehead and trying to not squeeze the ever-living daylights out of the boy, holding on until the dregs of fear are wiped from his face. He wishes he had the words to say just how he feels, to tell Naruto that he'll be here always, for as long as he wants him to be. That Naruto is his family, is one of his most precious people who Iruka loves more than words could ever describe.

Instead, he holds onto Naruto even tighter and hopes that he understands. From the way he holds on just as tight, Iruka thinks he does. 

Kakashi's hand is still on his shoulder, squeezing slightly in soft weight.

"Don't worry, Naruto. I'll treat him right."

"You better!" he pulls away, jumps to a stand so suddenly Iruka's knocked backwards. He stands nose to nose with Kakashi, tall enough now that he only _barely_ has to stand on his toes to accomplish it, and jabs a finger into his chest. Eyes narrowed, "If you hurt him, I'll set my shadow clones on you."

"I won't hurt him," Kakashi says, completely and utterly serious. So serious, in fact, that Naruto does a double-take, finger wavering in his chest, falling uselessly to his side. rubbing his nose awkwardly. He looks between the two of them, tilts his head, lips pursed in his familiar _I'm thinking_ pose (it's nice to see that some things never change) and then he's smiling. Not quite blinding, not like the one he wears outside when he's happy because he feels like he has to be, but a quieter one. One that's curled at the edges, like sunlight on tarmac or cold fingers curled around a steaming cup of tea. Something delicate, fragile. Iruka's heart swells. 

"Well. If Iruka-sensei is happy, then it's okay, I guess." And he nods emphatically, as if that is that, and proceeds to leap onto the sofa, feet slamming on the coffee table.

The vein on Iruka's forehead twitches, Kakashi's arm wraps around his shoulders and Naruto loudly regales yet another tale from his travels.

_Naruto's home_ , he thinks, and his face hurts with the size of his smile.

x

"Iruka-sensei! Come on!" Naruto howls from the doorway, scuffing his feet on the floor. "Hurry up! I haven't had Ichiraku's in _years!_ " he whines. a bedraggled Kakashi looking a little frightened as Naruto attaches himself to his arms, almost pulling him to the ground as he literally dangles off of him. 

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Iruka huffs back, focused on finding the best arrangements for the knick-knacks Naruto had given him from his journey. It doesn't help that every time he even _looks_ at something to do with Naruto, the lump in his throat comes back with frightening force. 

Before he leaves, though, something catches his eye. He pauses, swallows, picks it up in hands that don't shake.

The photo of him and Mizuki grins up at him. His face is young, so open and free, eyes wide and grin bright. Back then, Mizuki had been all he'd had. The only person who'd cared, the only person who he could really trust.

Mizuki had been his family. He hadn't been allowed anything else. 

Looking up, he sees Kakashi and Naruto waiting for him. Naruto, physically vibrating with excitement, eyes as clear as the skies. Kakashi, mellow and careful, like sunlit clouds. He sees what Iruka is looking at, tilts his head in concern, but Iruka shakes his head. 

The photo is put down and Iruka doesn't look back. 

It's been a long time since Mizuki was all he had. 

He presses a kiss to Kakashi's masked lips, laughs at the indignant squawks coming from Naruto. An arm around the boy's shoulder, hand held warm and tight in Kakashi's, the door is locked behind him. 

The photo of Mizuki sits face-up, forgotten, and Iruka's back doesn't hurt at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think this is it for my kakairu brain rot then u are wrong I have a lot more in the works for these guys. 
> 
> Anyway thank you so much to all you guys who are still reading!!!! I really really really hope you liked this, and I hope I didn't disappoint <333

**Author's Note:**

> Catch the drastic tone shift from the first few chapters to the later ones, lmao. 
> 
> This fic was supposed to be my break from my longer works but then it took over and now I'm left with this Monster and I haven't even touched my other pieces. Oops.
> 
> Also, this is complete. I've already written and finalised everything, all that's left is for me to post. (and reformat because Ao3 hates me) I'd like to say I'll post a chapter every day, but I am in the sea of A-Levels right now so things are pretty hectic. Hopefully this won't take me too long to upload.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated! Hope you all have wonderful days! xxx


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